


for the sake of hope (in the name of despair)

by chuwuyas



Series: tales of despondency & desire [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Despair Era (Dangan Ronpa), Developing Relationship, Dirty Thoughts, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Komaeda's hope boner, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Injuries, Not Beta Read, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, spoilers for Ultra Despair Girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuwuyas/pseuds/chuwuyas
Summary: A deeper insight into the troubled relationship between Servant and Kamukura Izuru during their days in Towa City.
Relationships: Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Series: tales of despondency & desire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987651
Comments: 26
Kudos: 159





	for the sake of hope (in the name of despair)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! This is my first time writing both Komaeda and Kamukura, so I did try my best to keep them in character as much as I could, but they're both so difficult to write, holy shit.
> 
> EDIT: There's an explicit handjob scene in the middle of the story! It's not that long but it's there, so if you wanna skip it just ctrl+f from "“Everywhere,” Komaeda breathed," to "“Please, take me home.”", you won't miss anything important to the story. Also, Komaeda has some dirty thoughts that happens more than once as the story goes on so I'll put double bold asterics (**) to mark them if you wanna skip those too! You also won't miss anything important!
> 
> Enjoy!!!

It's always cold in Towa City.

He always thought that was sort of ironic, considering the fact that half of the city was literally burning down in flames most of the time, and that anywhere you went you could see traces of destruction caused by late fire spots left behind, whether they were criminal or simply caused by miserable people trying not to freeze to death during the night. Caused by innocent, desperate people who were now homeless and lost, hopeless, who were only unlucky enough to be caught in the outbreak of a war and now had to daily fight for their lives. People who were nothing but pawns for someone else and lived their pathetic, plain lives without knowing they were pawns for said person. People who had no choice.

People who, just like him, would eventually serve as stepping stones for the inevitable hope to shine when its time came.

Standing over the parapet of a destroyed building, a tainted smile stained his lips as he silently watched the equally destroyed city with stars in his eyes, arms wide spread apart for stability, the heavy chain hanging from his neck clanking as it flowed with the cold, polluted wind. In the heat of the moment, he shouted, long and loudly, but his sick voice was only barely louder than the distressed screaming of people down, down there, in the streets, trying to escape their fated deaths as death itself chased them in the form of half black, half white animatronic bears. In the distance, the odd but already familiar cold sun shone its final rays for the day, starting to hide behind tall mountains in the horizon, painting the sky a crimson red decorated with tendrils of smoke that rose from fire spots all around the city.

It was beautiful. Truly beautiful. There was beauty in destruction, and he loved every second of it.

There was a fuss behind him that drove him away from his daydreaming, snapping him back into reality, making him look over his shoulders towards the source of the fuss. Utsugi Kotoko stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, stomping her right feet impatiently on the floor.

“Why are you screaming like that?” She said, sounding angrily, and he giggled under his breath. She grunted. “You know what? Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Just go back inside and bake us a chocolate cake, Monaka is hungry.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Very well,” then, with a ghost of a smile on his lips, he said: “Ah, but I don’t think I know how to bake chocolate cake?”

Utsugi grunted again, puffing her cheeks. “Well, so _learn_ it. Monaka is hungry and she wants a chocolate cake so you gotta bake us one, yes? Don’t forget, you’re our _servant.”_

 _Servant_ smiled again, in a way that must’ve been creepy judging by the way Utsugi squinted her eyes and grimaced, then nodded once more. “Very well. It will be done.”

The girl murmured something under her breath, something that sounded like “weirdo” and “creepy”, before turning on her heels and going back inside the building, grumbling. He silently watched her back until she disappeared from view, then returned to look at the horizon, still standing over the parapet –by now, the sun had completely set, and the sky now was tinted a deep crimson. People were still screaming painfully down, down there in the streets, their agonizing shouts echoing around the destroyed skyscrapers over the sounds of the animatronic bears giggling and slicing skin open. In the distance, he could hear the distinct sound of gunshots, followed by even more dreadful screaming.

The cold wind of the night blew and hit his lithe body sharp as a knife, making him shiver in his thin jacket.

It’s always cold in Towa City.  
  


* * *

  
He met him briefly before the world’s fall.

He could remember it quite clearly, despite his long-term memory not being so remarkable. The day was unusually cold for mid-April, and the torrent rain outside did not help at all; if anything, it only made things worse –made Tsumiki’s search even more difficult. He remembered looking for Tsumiki around his school with Nanami’s help, the class rep, while the others searched for her in different spots but still within school limits because going outside at that moment was simply too dangerous. He remembered the weight of the gun hidden in his uniform, heavy over his chest. He remembered meeting despair herself, remembered having her at gunpoint.

Then, he remembered meeting him. He remembered meeting Hope.

It all happened way too fast and everything past this point was way too blurred, but he could still clearly remember those cold, cold red eyes seeming to stare right into his soul, unwrapping each one of his secrets, judging each one of his sins. He remembered long silk-like, pitch-black hair flowing gracefully around a lithe figure as the lithe figure itself moved easily around him, disarming him as if taking candy from a child, practically _reeking_ boredom, as if he was expecting a fight, as if he was hoping for him to do _more._

And then, he remembered _him_ being the one held at gunpoint, and then the bored, _bored_ words that would be stuck inside his brain for the rest of his life.

“If it’s good luck, I have that, too.”

He remembered the deafening sound of a gunshot. He remembered _the_ shot. He remembered Nanami’s and Mitarai’s shouts as his body flew backwards until he painfully hit the ground. He remembered the student handbook in his front pocket.

In a haze, he remembered his burning hot cheeks as a weak hand reached forward, grabbing nothing, towards his savior. Towards hope. And then, he remembered nothing at all. All he could remember was pitch-black darkness and a warm feeling in the left side of his chest where the shot hit him.

Thus, how he met Hope. This is how he met Kamukura Izuru.

Of course, it took him a while until he finally learned his name. With the outbreak of the world falling into despair and all that, he didn’t have time to be dwelling on thoughts about the whereabouts of Kamukura Izuru, or about who he actually was, when his own life was at stake –not that he really dwelled on the thought of it, though. If meeting Kamukura Izuru was luck, then losing him right after was only his bad luck cycle striking. If it was meant to be, then his luck would eventually bring him back to him. He would just have to wait, patiently, like he always did.

It took two years for his good luck cycle to strike again and bring Kamukura Izuru back to him.

He ran into him by chance _( ~~fate~~ ),_ in a night so cold that made each one of his bones ache uncomfortably under the heavy trench coat he was wearing (trench coat that was found in the streets, wrapping a body that no longer needed to be warmed). The streets were tinted a pale white with the heavy snow that only then had stopped falling, and on any other occasion the scenario would look pretty, calm, comforting, but the dirt and blood staining the snow and the destruction and putrid stench of the dead bodies scattered all around the place made the scenario look nothing but morbid, gruesome, dreadful. The skies were a mix of crimson red and smoke grey, with tendrils of smoke rising towards the dark clouds, the pale full moon completely hidden behind them. No stars could be seen. No life could be detected.

Kamukura Izuru had his back to him when he eventually found him, in the middle of the night, standing over fallen concrete debris and silently staring at the city beneath them, staring at destruction in its purest form. He had his back to him, but Servant didn’t need to see his face to recognize him. He would recognize this man anywhere. He would recognize the impeccable suit with not a single crease or speck of dirt staining it despite being surrounded by filth (although this time, in addition to the impeccable suit, there was also a dark cloak just as impeccable). He would recognize the long pitch-black, silk-like hair that was always clean even though he hadn’t seen clean water for quite a while now, flowing gracefully with the polluted wind, not a single strand tangled. He would recognize the absolute stillness of his lithe body, the perfect posture, the utter boredom that simply seemed to surround his figure like a dark aura.

“Hello,” Servant said once he was close enough, a drunk smile on his chapped lips, a soft blush tinting his sickly pale skin pink. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Kamukura, of course, didn’t reply, but Servant already expected him not to.

“We’ve met before,” he proceeded, crossing his arms over his chest to try to keep himself warm, moving his weight from one leg to the other. “Back at Hope’s Peak Academy. Before the Tragedy, I mean. I don’t think you remember-”

“I remember you,” Kamukura interrupted him, voice hoarse and deep, bored, _bored,_ and Servant felt chilling cold in his bones. Kamukura didn’t flinch, didn’t make any other efforts to acknowledge his presence, didn’t even turn around to face him. “Komaeda Nagito, Super High School Level Good Luck.”

“Ah,” Servant replied – _Servant,_ not Komaeda Nagito, not Super High School Level Good Luck–, a bit embarrassed. The pink blush on his cheeks deepened. “So you remember me. How presumptuous of me to assume you didn’t. Do forgive me.”

Kamukura didn’t reply.

Servant continued. “How long have you been here in Towa City? I don’t remember seeing you around.”

No answer.

“How long do you plan on staying around?”

Silence.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Servant tried one last time, picking at the loose bands of his trench coat. “I would offer mine, but my place is really small and I don’t think you would like to share a room with scum like-”

_“Boring.”_

Servant cut himself and gasped, startled. “What?”

“Boring,” Kamukura repeated, voice as impassive as before. “Small talk is boring. If you don’t have something interesting to say, don’t talk.”

 _“Ah,”_ Servant said, feeling his face burning hot again, this time from utter shame. He cleared his throat, uncrossed his arms and moved his weight from one leg to the other again. “I do apologize, then. Do forgive me,” he said with a small apologetic bow, even though Kamukura was not looking at him, before reluctantly turning on his heels to leave. He might be filthy trash, but he knew dismissal when he saw one. “I hope to see you around. Have a good night, Kamukura-kun.”

After staring at Kamukura’s ever still silhouette for another minute or two, as if he was trying to fix his figure behind his eyelids, Servant sighed and took his leave, a small drunk smile present on his winter-cold lips.

“Have a good night, Komaeda Nagito,” Kamukura murmured from behind him, still standing over the concrete debris, still with his back to him. Servant didn’t stop walking, nor he looked at the man from over his shoulders, but a smile did appear on his lips.

He would dream about this moment for the rest of his life.  
  


* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City.

At first, it was kind of unnerving, annoying if you may, but he eventually grew used to it. The always cold wind, the always cold establishments, the always cold treatment he received from the Warriors of Hope, the always cold treatment he received from his own classmates back when they could still be considered friends, even before the world’s fall from grace. The always cold floor he slept on, the cold food the kids gave him to eat from time to time, the cold, heavy chain always hanging from his neck. The always cold hand of a long late enemy putrefying day by day, slowly, attached to his cold, sick arm by sloppy stitches.

Coldly, he wondered when he would finally become part of the cold scenario of the cold, cold Towa City.

However, he eventually figured that although it’s always cold in Towa City, cut wounds are always hot.

Hissing, he fell on the ground when Fukawa Touko ( _Genocider Sho,_ he had to remember himself) sliced both his thighs open with sharp scissors, the sudden turn of events strucking him dumbfounded for a few seconds before the sharp pain finally travelled through his body and reached his brain. Shocked, beaten, he silently watched Fukawa Touko and Naegi Komaru talk a few feet ahead of him, lost, confused –when did his plan go wrong? Why? Why did this happen?

Laughter came easily.

He laughed deeply, roughly, maniacally, in a way that definitely made him look like he was crazy, but he didn’t care. He didn’t give a _shit_ –how convenient it was, his bad luck striking right when he needed his good luck the most.

His luck cycle truly was a son of a bitch.

(But, honestly, what did he expect? Genocider Sho was exactly what her title stated –a genocider. A serial killer. Long before the world’s fall, she was already used to killing people. Why did he think she would act any differently than she did with her victims? He could have been dead by now, killed by his own stupidity because he grew too arrogant, too smug, too full of himself. Too trustful in his luck cycle. He could have been killed, and then what? How naive.)

He doesn’t know how much time he spent there, sitting alone and vulnerable on a puddle of his own blood in an open field with glassy eyes and drifting thoughts, with a dumb smile tattoed on his lips after his hysterical laughter eventually died, long after Fukawa and Naegi were gone –seconds? Minutes? A couple of hours, maybe? _Couldn’t be longer than two or three hours,_ he only slightly acknowledged, _for my thighs are still bleeding, and I still haven’t passed out from blood loss._

When he finally recomposed and recovered his senses, he realized two things:

One: the sun had already set.

And two: unlike he originally thought, he wasn’t alone.

There was a tall figure standing on the top of the stairs, silently watching him, its pitch-black hair flowing gracefully with the cold wind of the night.

Servant’s dumb smile became even dumber, his cheeks immediately warming up.

“Ah,” he said, dizzy. Whether it was because of blood loss or blissful joy, he didn’t know. “Kamukura-kun. Good evening. It’s been a while.”

Once he was noticed, Kamukura went down the stairs and stopped a few feet ahead of Servant, still silently studying him.

“You’re hurt,” is what Kamukura said after a minute or two of complete silence.

Servant scoffed. “So it would seem.”

“Who hurt you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Servant replied, shaking his head negatively, before opening a wide smile. “Good to know you’re still around.”

Kamukura, again, didn’t reply. Servant, again, already expected him not to.

Quietly, slowly, Kamukura kneeled down next to Servant, taking a closer look to his wounds, impassive expression always present on his face. 

“You need stitches,” concluded Kamukura after a short moment. “Where’s Tsumiki?”

“Don’t know,” Servant replied with a shrug, lips twisted in a crooked smile, head slightly tilted to the side. “Probably not here.”

_“Komaeda.”_

He shuddered, his right eye throbbing. He felt dizzy.

“I don’t know where Tsumiki-san is,” Servant said, closing his eyes. “I haven’t seen any of them for quite a while now.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, a year? Maybe more?” He replied, pressing his eyebrows together. The entire world was spinning. “They all have their business to attend.”

“You’re careless,” Kamukura said, voice ice cold and muffled, as if he was talking through water. Servant felt drunk. His head throbbed. “You won’t survive like this.”

“Yeah,” Servant giggled, dizzy. “Tell me about it.”

And then he fell backwards, and the world went dark.  
  


**-x-  
  
**

He woke up eight hours later, still in that open field, alone and vulnerable, with the only evidence indicating he hadn’t dreamed about the events of last night being the clean bandages carefully wrapped around his thighs.  
  


* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City.

He watched the fall of the Warriors of Hope and the city burning down in flames from a privileged seat when the time finally came, safe from the coldness of the city, moving his pieces from behind the scenes. He saw Naegi Komaru and Fukawa Touko beating Towa Monaka in her own game, he saw the fall of the Warriors of Hope one by one, he saw the Demon Hunt finally ending. He saw Towa Monaka’s gradual fall into despair.

He saw the building crashing down and then, slightly disappointed, he saw his plan going downhill.

(He didn’t mind, though. Hope would eventually prevail like it always did, yes? He just needed to be a little more patient.)

Towa Monaka's sleeping figure was a constant weight on his back as he walked aimlessly through the destroyed city after he saved her from certain death, after her inevitable defeat, with his still very wounded thighs complaining with each step he took, threatening to falter, threatening to send them both to the ground. Above them, familiar tendrils of smoke raised towards the oddly blue sky, for once not its usual unpleasant crimson red –at any other time, he would find the sky quite beautiful, comforting. But at that moment? It was nothing but uneasy.

Sudden changes like that are always bad.

Distracted by the uneasy blue sky, he didn’t notice when Monaka woke up. It wasn’t until he heard her mumbling voice that he realized she was awake.

“Why?” She asked after a minute or so of trying to understand what was happening, confused, voice hoarse from sleep and tired from the events of the day.

He easily told her.

He told her why he saved her, why he decided to stay, why he was doing what he was doing. He told her everything, rambled about hope, despair and everything in between, all without stopping walking aimlessly among the city, among destruction. The entire time, Monaka was quiet, just silently listening to him uttering about everything and everything and everything. Eventually, after his throat was already long dry and sore, she fell back asleep, and he finally could stop talking. He looked up towards the sky again, staring at the puffy clouds with glassy eyes, his shaky breath coming out in small white puffs because of the cold weather –the streets were no longer covered in snow and it had been quite a while since there was a snowstorm, but he figured one was bound to happen sometime soon; maybe that’s why the skies were so clean, so blue. Maybe that was the fated lull before the storm.

And maybe the odd and uneasy blue skies and his failed plan were just his bad luck cycle striking, because he ran into Kamukura Izuru not long after Monaka had fallen asleep, for the second time in less than a month.

_How lucky of him._

Kamukura was walking on a bridge, a level over the one Servant himself was walking, pushing a wheelbarrow with two familiar animatronic bear heads on it, seeming to be extremely annoyed –even from a distance, Servant could see his furrowed eyebrows, his lips pressed on a thin line and his white knuckles from gripping the wheelbarrow’s handles too firmly. He looked so _angry._ And so utterly, utterly _beautiful._

“Hello again,” said Servant once he was close enough for Kamukura to hear him, already feeling his cheeks burning hot –it seemed to be simply a natural reaction, the burning cheeks; he saw Kamukura, he immediately started blushing. “Greetings, Kamukura-kun.”

Upon hearing his voice, Kamukura looked away from the animatronic bear heads to Servant, staring at him with his eyes dark with irritation. The irritation and the coldness of his stare did not decrease once they locked eyes, but the furrow of Kamukura’s brows did soften just a slightly bit.

Kamukura didn’t greet him back, just merely nodded with his head to acknowledge his presence. It was more than enough for Servant.

“What? Who’s that?” Came Kurokuma’s annoying voice from the wheelbarrow, its strong accent echoing loudly around the highway. “Is that fuckin’ _Servant?_ What’cha doin’ here, kid? Finally decided to come out of the closet?” It said, chuckling hysterically as if it just told the funniest joke in the world. Servant pressed his lips on a thin line, eyes still locked with Kamukura’s. Kamukura frowned just a little. _“Wait–_ shit, don’t tell me–” Kurokuma said, as if noticing something important, its laugh becoming even more maniacal. “Holy fuck, is this your fuckin’ _boyfriend,_ Kamukura?”

“Ah, I wish,” Servant easily replied, giggling softly. “But you see, I’m not good enough for Kamukura-kun. Kamukura-kun is way out of my league.”

Kamukura didn’t reply, but did press his lips on a thin line. For half a second, Servant thought he'd seen something besides boredom in those deep red eyes.

“Well, some people do have bad taste, don’t they? Who am I to judge?” Kurokuma said, laughing deeply, making an ugly sound that sounded awfully like a pig grunting. “Date who you date, fuck who you fuck, I don’t give a damn. If you wanna go ahead and bang someone who looks like a fuckin’ dead body, then be my fuckin’ guest.”

It hurt.

Servant already knew it. of course he did; it was _his_ appearance Kurokuma was talking about, after all. Just one look at any reflective surface and he could see it –the sickly pale skin, the skinny body, the dirty and tangled hair, the dark and heavy bags under his eyes from not having had a good sleeping schedule in two years. The torn and filthy clothes. The thick metal collar and chain hanging from his neck. It wasn’t pleasing to the eye, he knew that. He knew he wasn’t a pleasing sight.

Still, it _hurt._

Kurokuma laughed again, seemingly satisfied with Servant’s reaction (or lack of). “Well _I_ wouldn’t do it, but it's the fuckin' _end of the world,_ so you can-”

Kamukura shattered Kurokuma’s head with his bare hands before the animatronic bear could even finish its phrase, his arms impaling the thing up to the elbows, pulling its wires and easily ripping them off as if they were made of paper. Servant could do nothing but just stand there and watch, amazed, as Kamukura destroyed the bear with a single punch as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it was nothing, any previous self-aware thoughts about his appearance suddenly gone –to break something as annoying as Kurokuma, he truly was the Super High School Level Hope.

“Oh?” Kurokuma said, curious, as if its head wasn’t just crushed to pieces. “Did I say something wrong? Am I interrupting something? Would you guys prefer me to leave you two alone? Do you-”

“What are you doing?”

Kurokuma shut up as soon as it heard Kamukura’s voice.

Servant blinked. It took him a moment to realize Kamukura was talking to him. “Me?”

Kamukura just looked from Servant’s face to the sleeping body on his back.

“Oh,” Servant said, snorting. He adjusted Monaka’s sleeping figure on his back. “Let’s say I... Still have some stuff to do.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Healing,” Servant nodded. “Thank you for the stitches, by the way. Though I do apologize for wasting your valuable time with someone like me.”

“Do not,” Kamukura said, voice firm and ice cold. “Your wounds would get an infection and you would eventually die if I did not.”

“Ah, but then I would be to blame, would I not?”

Kamukura closed his eyes, pressing his lips on a thin line. “There wouldn’t be one to blame if you weren’t so careless. Keep the careless behavior and you're bound to be just another number in the mortality rate of the city,” he stated, and Servant found himself falling silent. He didn’t need Kamukura to tell him that _again,_ he already knew. 

He bit his lip, ashamed, breaking eye contact for the first time since they ran into each other to stare at his aching feet. There was a second or two of silence between them before Kamukura moved away from the wheelbarrow in order to stand over fallen debris, staring at Servant from above. “Say, _Komaeda Nagito,”_ he said, coldly, bored, drawing Servant's attention back to him, his pitch-black hair flowing around his lithe figure like dark tendrils. He looked _divine,_ so _beautiful_ –like an angel, the prettiest of them all. _Lucifer,_ before the fall. “Do you or do you not want to see hope overcoming despair?”

Smile came easily to Servant’s lips. “Naturally.”

“Then act like it,” Kamukura said, voice firm and demanding, and Servant found himself gasping in surprise. “Why have you given up?”

“I have not.”

“You have,” Kamukura affirmed. “Or at least seems like so. You say you have not given up, you say you do all you can for the sake of hope, yet you do not make any efforts to avoid the despair you so much hate. Tell me, how far does your blind trust in your luck cycle go?”

Servant stared at Kamukura in shock, with his eyes slightly widened, mouth half-opened, weak on his knees. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t _breath._ “Well I-”

“Despair without hope is nothing but raw, utter sorrow,” Kamukura said, and Servant was shaking, shaking, _shaking_ on his bones, from head to toe. “The world will not go easy on you just because you have blind faith in your good luck, just because you believe hope always eventually prevails. Keep the careless behavior, and you will end up dead, and then it’s over. You won’t see the triumphing hope you so long for.”

For a moment, Servant fell silent, too shocked to say something. He just stood there, with Monaka still sleeping on his back, his wounded legs aching from supporting her weight for too long, staring dumbfoundedly at Kamukura Izuru, Hope itself, lecturing him about how shitty his personal care was. How unfortunate it was. Truly, utterly unfortunate.

(Servant allowed, even for just a second, himself to pretend that Kamukura actually cared about him, about his well being. He pretended his existence wasn’t totally boring and completely irrelevant for the embodiment of hope, that Kamukura wasn’t saying all these things just because he would maybe eventually ask him to become a stepping stone for overcoming despair _–ask,_ not _need,_ because there was no way in hell that Kamukura Izuru would ever _need_ someone as sick and twisted, useless, as Servant, even if just to die.

And when the time came, he would easily comply, because Servant was exactly only that: a servant. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a servant.)

“Ah, how bold, impetuous of me,” Servant ended up saying after a minute or two of daydreaming, a glaze look in his eyes, giggling dully. “I apologize for making Kamukura-kun worry about me. I didn’t-”

When he raised his eyes towards the bridge Kamukura was on, he was greeted with an empty field. Kamukura no longer could be seen.

“Ah,” he said again, not being able to avoid the disappointed tone of his voice and the sting in his heart. “How unfortunate.”

Reluctantly, he resumed his aimless walk among the cold, destroyed highway, Monaka’s sleeping figure on his back a constant reminder that he still had stuff to do.

As he walked, in a haze, quietly humming a song that Mioda used to sing before the world’s fall, Servant couldn’t help but think about the fact he’s never seen Kamukura talk for so long before. He wondered if this meant anything. He wondered if it was because of him.

He wondered.  
  


* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City.

At first, it was sort of uncomfortable because he wasn’t used to it, because Tokyo was never this cold three hundred and sixty five days a year, and because everything was way too new to him, but he eventually got used to the forever cold weather of the forever cold Towa City. He adapted. Learned how to coexist with the endless winter weather. In the beginning it was annoying, yes, but somehow also oddly familiar, for some reason. Comforting, even –in an unpredictable place where you never knew what the next day would reserve to you, knowing that at least tomorrow would undoubtedly be cold was already something.

But it was starting to get uncomfortable again these days, the coldness of the city. 

After the fall of the Warriors of Hope, Servant (was he even _“Servant”_ anymore? Or was he _Komaeda Nagito, Super High School Level Good Luck_ again? Who exactly was he serving? Just who exactly was he?) had nowhere to go.

He became one of the homeless, nameless people wandering aimlessly among the destroyed streets of the equally destroyed city, lost, alone. Monaka didn’t follow him, naturally; she had her own plans, her own things to do. She had money, too. Obviously, she wouldn’t choose the streets when she could just buy a place to live comfortably, now that she didn’t have the Warriors of Hope around her anymore. Now that she didn’t need _him_ around anymore, either. So after being eventually dumped by Monaka when she eventually grew tired of his endless babbling about hope and despair, he became a vagrant. A stray dog, if you may.

The odd situation in which he currently found himself did not help _at all_ in his misery, either.

Something happened after the dissolution of the Warriors of Hope.

It had something to do with the Warriors themselves, he easily concluded. This part truly wasn’t all that hard to understand –the Warriors had control over the Monokuma kids and the Monokumas themselves, which gave Servant quite a few privileges as their personal slave, so after they disbanded, it was only natural that the kids and the animatronic bears would eventually take control of themselves again and run wild in the world.

What Komaeda _(Komaeda?_ Who’s Komaeda?) failed to understand, however, was why he was suddenly being targeted by the bears.

It never happened before. Not when the kids fucked him up, basically torturing him for shits and giggles, as if punishing him because before being their “servant” he was still a _Demon._ Not when he walked alone among the filthy streets. Not even when he ran into one of the animatronic beasts accidentally without the kids around. It just never happened –the bears always ignored him as if he wasn’t even there, barely batting an eye at him before returning to their killing spree.

Which is why he was so surprised when he was wandering among the streets one day and a Monokuma appeared out of nowhere and, instead of ignoring him after staring at him for three seconds like it always did, it attacked him.

Servant yelped in surprise as he narrowly avoided the deadly claws aimed at his face, his luck making him slide on the post acid rain wet asphalt in the last second, the tip of the longest claw scratching a shallow cut across his nose. He widened his eyes, jerked his body violently backwards and turned on his heels to run, tripping and almost falling on his face with the sudden sprint, the beast grunting animatronically and managing to slice a deep cut on his back before starting chasing after him. He ran as fast as his sick body would allow, hissing in pain, the heavy chain hanging from his neck clanking metallically with each step, his thighs complaining every time his feet touched the ground, still not fully healed, but better than before. He shivered from head to toes as the cold wind hit the bare skin of his back, where his clothes had been torn by the bear, feeling the warm blood soaking his clothes. 

_“Shit,”_ Komaeda hissed under his breath as he ran, ran, ran, the beast still grunting closely behind him. _“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit-”_

 _This can’t be it,_ he dully thought, body throbbing with pain. _This can’t be the way I die. If- if I were to die in this godawful, forsaken city, it had to be for hope, it had to be so I could serve as a stepping stone for hope. This- this is way too pathetic. Meaningless. Just another number in the city’s mortality rate._

Blindly, desperately, he turned left in a random alley as he tried to escape the bear still closely chasing after him, sealing his fate when his luck cycle decided it was its time to strike and he came across a dead end.

He braked and turned on his heels as soon as he saw the dead end, trying to go back to where he came from, but the beast that was chasing him was already there, blocking his way out, waiting.

Then, without decreasing its speed, the bear crossed the remaining way between them and opened a wide wound on Servant’s chest with its claws.

He almost laughed.

 _Ah,_ Komaeda thought as he felt the bear’s claws slicing his skin. _Guess Kamukura-kun was right when he said my carelessness would get me killed, after all, huh?_

He fell to the ground with the force of the beast’s attack, hitting the filthy floor with a painful thud, the chain hanging from his neck making a metallic sound as it hit the floor, looking upward just in time to see the bear raise its paw again for another attack, for its final one.

Servant squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his lips in a thin line, clenched his jaw. He waited for the impact. Waited for his end.

 _At least I’ll get to see_ her _again. Luckily, I’ll give her the punch in the face she so much deserves._

But said end never came.

For a moment, as he listened to the awful sounds of machines breaking and the ugly mechanical grunts the Monokuma bears produced, he got extremely confused. He didn’t dare to open his eyes, didn’t dare to sneak a peek at who his mysterious savior was, just stayed on the floor curled in a fetal position with his eyes squeezed shut and hissed silently in pain, feeling his entire body aching and his wounds stinging and his blood leaking from the wounds and dirtying the already filthy floor even more. For a moment, he thought his savior was _Pekoyama Peko, Super High School Level Kendoka_ and a former classmate of his, but it didn’t take long for him to discard the possibility –as far as he knew, Pekoyama was not in Towa City, but it was also very unlikely that she would willingly save his skin like that even if she was. Pekoyama worked under Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko’s orders and his orders only, so unless Kuzuryuu himself had ordered her to save him (he doubted it), she would most likely not.

Komaeda waited for the fighting sounds to end, waited until he could no longer hear the mechanical sounds the Monokuma made, before finally opening his eyes through the pain. His entire body ached, throbbed, stung. His head spinned.

When he finally managed to blink away the glazed look in his eyes, his tired vision fixed on a pair of uncharacteristically clean and polished black formal boots without a single scratch or dirt spot on it, a long dark cloak, and a familiar pitch-black hair so long that almost touched the filthy floor, framing elegant calves, just barely hovering above the floor and avoiding the filthiness of it.

Servant barely managed to smile dizzily at his savior before giving in to the overwhelming pain and slipping into unconsciousness.  
  


**-x-  
  
**

Komaeda’s first reaction upon waking up and not recognizing where he was was to immediately start screaming.

His second reaction was to instantly start whimpering in pain right after because there wasn’t a single spot on his body that didn’t hurt like he just crawled his way out of hell.

(His third reaction was to quietly gasp, surprised, when he noticed that he wasn’t lying in a filthy alley like usual, but in a comfortable, warm bed.)

“Tsu… Tsumiki...san?” He assumed, dazed and confused, because it was the only logical scenario he could think of, his voice hoarse and dry like he just swallowed a portion of sand. He tried to take a look around the room he found himself in to analyze it, trying to see if he could recognize anything that could indicate where he was, but didn’t find anything worth noticing –aside from the bed he was currently lying in, the room had just an old bedside table next to the bed with a shimmering lamp over it, a small empty wardrobe across the room with its doors broken and a full-length mirror next to it, dirty and with several cracks in its extension.

Apart from all these things, Servant noticed through the cracked mirror, there was also a small armchair by the room’s window, where a familiar long-haired man read a book in silence.

The man didn’t seem to have noticed him yet, so he took his selfish time to appreciate the man –to appreciate elegant hands and gracious fingers, expertly leafing through the book’s pages without making a single sound, and long legs, gracefully crossed one over the other in a way that didn’t leave a single wrinkle in his perfectly ironed trousers. To appreciate his long, silk-like hair, as dark as an endless pit, always perfectly combed and without a single stray hair in sight, and his perfect skin, almost ghostly pale for the lack of sun. To appreciate his chilly, forever bored eyes, of an intense tone of red that could match the crimson of the city’s skies, except Kamukura Izuru’s eyes were never cold like the always cold Towa City, no. They _burned._ Burned, with an intensity that no scorching sun could ever match, in a way that could incinerate someone with a single stare.

Komaeda was always someone who was known for playing with fire. He wondered what it would feel like to be burned by Kamukura.

It was only when he started giggling under his breath, lost in his own dirty thoughts, that Servant noticed Kamukura was no longer paying attention to his book, but was staring directly at him.

“Oh,” Servant said, blinking in surprise. “Apologies, Kamukura-kun. I was st-” he said, bringing his body up to a sitting position on the bed. It was only then that he noticed he was shirtless, with several bandages carefully wrapped around his torso –he stared down at his shirtless, bandaged chest and then blinked again, feeling his cheeks warming up. _“...Oh?_ Did Kamukura-kun make good use of this sick old body of mine while I was off?”

Kamukura closed his eyes, pressing his lips in a thin line. “I did not.”

Servant didn’t know whether he was relieved or sort of disappointed. “Ah, it’s not like I would’ve minded. If it brings hope and joy to Kamukura-kun, then I would happily let him have my body,” he said, smiling, then chewed on his lower lip and tapped on his chin with his right index finger. “Although I _would_ prefer to be told beforehand and for it to happen while I’m conscious so I could actually _help_ him with-”

 _“Komaeda,”_ Kamukura said, voice cold and firm, and Komaeda instantly fell silent. “I would never.”

 _“Ah,”_ Komaeda giggled dully, this time full on disappointed but also actually relieved. “Of course. I don’t know why I thought the actual embodiment of hope would ever want something with someone as useless as me. How bold of me to assume such a thing.”

Kamukura sighed, disappointed, closing his book without marking the page and putting it down before standing. _“Not_ what I meant,” he said, crossing the space between them with silent steps, stopping by Komaeda by the bed. “Lay down.”

 _“Yes,”_ Servant happily obliged, with a glassy look in his eyes and a dizzy smile on his lips, his cheeks burning hot. He slid his body down in the bed, promptly ignoring the burst of pain that ran through his body as he did so, a thin thread of saliva escaping from his lips as he watched Kamukura hovering him.

Kamukura’s eyes narrowed just a slight bit as he watched Servant’s expression. “What are you- _Komaeda,_ _close your legs,”_ he sighed again, seeming annoyed. “I am not doing what you think I am.”

“Oh?” Servant said, blinking the glassy expression away, disappointed. He reluctantly closed his legs. “And what is it that you’re doing, if I may ask?”

“Merely checking on your wounds,” Kamukura replied, and Komaeda blinked again. _Of course._ “Don’t move.”

Komaeda nodded, promptly obeying him. As he watched Kamukura expertly removing his bandages to check on his wounds, careful enough to not hurt him even more than he already was, Komaeda couldn’t help but smile in awe at the man.

“Do you have a _Super High School Level Doctor_ talent?” He asked, curious, as Kamukura completely removed his torso bandages and applied some yellowish ointment around his cuts, probably to help with healing. He wondered where he got medicine in the forsaken city.

“Certainly,” Kamukura hummed, concentrated. “Doctor, nurse, paramedic, surgeon. _Pharmacist,”_ as if to illustrate this one, he raised the ointment he was holding and shook it in the air. There’s his answer about medicine. “Most of it is utterly useless, but some of them truly are helpful when needed.”

Komaeda nodded, then fell silent in order to watch Kamukura working. He watched, in wonder, as the man carefully tended to his wounds, applying the ointment with agile fingers, cold digits slowly tracing his entire chest to spread the medicine. Even through the cold ointment gel, Kamukura’s touch _burned_ –fiery, intensely, with the fierce of a thousand fires, and he longed for _more._ He wanted _more._ He craved for his contact, for his elegant hands to palm his chest and feel how stupidly fast his heart was beating, for his long, bony fingers to trace every single inch of his sickly pale skin, for his digits to mark bruises on the skin of his thin waist. He longed for Kamukura's lips, always so soft-looking and inviting, to kiss him eagerly and deeply, until he couldn't even breathe anymore.

 ****** (He longed for Kamukura himself and his lithe figure, hovering him as he shoved himself deeper and deeper inside of Komaeda, until there was no remaining space between them and neither of them could see where one ended and the other started. He craved for the sounds he would make, for how his face would look twisted with lust, for how good he would feel inside of him.) ******

(How filthy. How filthy and nasty, selfish of him, to imagine all these things about a man who was doing nothing but taking care of his wounds. Truly loathsome.)

He couldn’t help but sigh under his breath as Kamukura expertly traced his entire torso to apply the ointment, careful not to directly touch his wounds and stitches, perfect brows pressed together in concentration but eyes ever so bored, lips in a thin line, silk-like hair tossed over broad shoulders to stay out of his sight. Servant didn’t focus on his wounds, didn’t really pay attention to the three red lines crossing his torso where the Monokuma’s claws ripped his skin open and the flawless stitches closed it; instead, he focused on Kamukura’s hands tracing his body, slowly, tenderly, and for a moment, he selfishly allowed himself to imagine the man was doing another thing. To imagine Kamukura tracing _other_ parts of his body, to imagine his cold digits tracing _other_ parts of his sickly pale skin, to imagine his elegant hands cupping his face and kissing all the air out of his lungs.

Fuck.

He was so fucking _gone._

When he finished applying the ointment, Kamukura removed his godly hands from Servant’s chest, and he internally grumbled in disappointment. However, the long-haired man didn’t step away –instead, he sat by the edge of Servant’s bed, ointment still in his hands.

“Sit down,” the man asked, and Komaeda promptly obliged with a fierce nod of his head. He brought his body up to a sitting position, hissing between gritted teeth as pain exploded through his entire body, and looked over his shoulder to Kamukura, who had now moved closer and was sitting right behind him, to see what he would do next. It was only when he felt Kamukura’s ointment gel-cold fingers on his shoulder blades that Komaeda remembered he was also wounded there.

He sighed under his breath again, closing his eyes to allow the feeling of Kamukura’s cold fingers touching his warm skin to increase, unconsciously tilting his head slightly to the side, the heavy chain hanging from it clanking softly with the motion –he didn’t even notice he still had that stupid thing on; he grew so used to the chain always hanging from his neck that it didn’t even bother him anymore at this point, he just bluntly ignored it, pretended it wasn’t even there. It was better if he did.

“You’re careless,” Kamukura reminded him once again, in a low whisper, and Komaeda found himself agreeing with him.

“I am,” he breathed back as Kamukura’s cold fingers applied the ointment through the entire extension of his back wounds, with his free hand resting on his thin waist to keep him still, steady breath oh-so close to his bare neck, and Komaeda couldn’t help but sigh yet again, tilting his head slightly more, internally wondering if Kamukura knew the effect he had on him, if he knew what he was doing with his hand on Servant’s waist, and if it was on purpose. He wondered what it would feel like if Kamukura decided to bring his hand up just a little bit to wrap it around his neck, instead of the thick metal collar.

“You’ll end up dead,” Kamukura said, and Servant nodded again, hazily, dizzily.

“Probably,” he truthfully replied, because he knew it was true. He knew he was careless, and he _knew_ that his self-negligence would most definitely get him killed, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t _care_ –if his death served as a stepping stone for hope to overcome despair, then he would gladly give away his life, die in a blink of an eye, in a heartbeat. He just hoped Kamukura would be there when his time came, so his beautiful face would be the last thing he saw in life.

He wondered how Kamukura would react if he knew all the things he fantasized about him.

“Komaeda,” Kamukura whispered, voice deep and hoarse, dangerously close to his exposed neck and ear, and Servant shivered from head to toes, his heart beating ridiculously fast in his chest. “Do you want me to take this off?”

“Hm?” Servant murmured, furrowing his brows just a little bit; _I want you to do a lot of things, to take off a lot of things,_ he internally thought. _You’ll have to be just a little more specific._ “What?”

 _“This,”_ Kamukura said, sliding his ointment-soaked fingers up his back, through his shoulder blades, slowly tracing his spine line, until they reached his nape. Then, Servant felt two fingers sliding under the metal collar wrapped around his neck, crooking around the edges, giving it a soft pull. “Would you like this off?”

“Ah,” Servant said, snorting softly. It was only then that he noticed he'd been fudging with the end of the chain. He immediately stopped, then clenched and unclenched his fists, and tried not to think about Kamukura’s fingers _that_ close to his neck. Tried not to ask him to change the metal collar for his hands. “Well, it’s not like what _I_ would like matters, is it? It’s not up to me to decide.”

Kamukura fell silent for a moment, then said: “...Not up to you?”

“Of course not,” Servant scoffed. “It’s up to _them_ to decide. I’m just their _servant,_ aren’t I? I’m just here to serve them. Once they decide that I’m worthy enough, then I will take it off.”

“‘Them’?”

 _“Them,”_ Servant nodded, trying to ignore the burn feeling where Kamukura’s fingers were still touching his neck under the collar. “The kids. The Warriors of Hope.”

Kamukura, once again, fell silent. He still had two fingers under the metal collar, pulling it softly, and his other hand on Servant’s waist. Servant could feel Kamukura’s steady breath hitting his nape, making strands of his dirty hair tickle his skin, causing him to shiver again from head to toes, and the room felt way too hot for a place that was always so damn cold. “Komaeda,” the long-haired man said, quietly, after a minute or two in silence, drawing Servant’s attention back to his voice instead of the thumb gently tracing circles in his waist, instead of his breath hitting his nape in hot puffs. “There are no Warriors of Hope anymore.”

Servant blinked away his haziness, gasping soundlessly and raising his eyebrows in shock for just a second, like he’d just forgot about an important detail –not the fact that the Warriors of Hope disbanded, but the fact that if the kids weren’t together anymore, he didn’t need to keep the title of “Servant” any longer as well. He had no one else to serve. Most of the kids were dead, Towa Monaka didn’t give a shit about him after she grew tired of his endless babbling about hope and despair, and Utsugi Kotoko vanished from the map.

Not for the first time, he wondered just who the hell was he serving. Just who the hell was he.

He shot Kamukura a look over his shoulders, staring at the man with half-lidded eyes, pondering. He thought about the possible outcomes that he could lead this conversation to, trying to figure which one would please Kamukura the best –he could suggest that he could become _his_ servant, and that he would start following him to the ends of the world from now on. He could _request_ to follow him to the ends of the world. He could just thank him for saving his life and part ways (no, not this one. Risk that). He could suggest he change the collar on his neck for his _own_ collar. He could ask him to wrap his _hands_ around his neck, and he could ask him to do all the dirty things he’s been thinking about for the past three and a half years, and he could ask him to use him as much as he pleased. He could be selfish, and he could tell Kamukura about how he felt and ask him for just one night together before leaving him forever and ever.

But he, of course, did none of that. Kamukura once told him that if he didn’t have anything interesting to say, he should stay quiet, so he did, because he hardly believed someone as amazing and extraordinary as Kamukura Izuru, Super High School Level Hope, would ever find anything he ever said ‘interesting’ or worth listening to.

So he just chuckled, shoved away his overwhelming thoughts, and shook his head negatively. “Ah, how stupid of me to forget about such an obvious detail,” Komaeda _(Komaeda,_ he had to remember himself. Not Servant. He wasn’t Servant anymore) _,_ said. “Do forgive me, Kamukura-kun.”

 _“Komaeda,”_ Kamukura said again, firmly, and Komaeda stopped for a moment to actually appreciate for the first time how beautiful that name sounded on Kamukura’s lips –he _knew_ it was a reprimand, he knew Kamukura was upset, but his name leaving the man’s lips sounded like music to his ears; soothing, pleasing, graceful. _Hot._ So unbearably _hot._ Komaeda wondered how his name would sound leaving Kamukura’s lips in a moan, like a dirty melody. “Tell me what you want.”

Komaeda wanted to, truly did –he wanted to tell him about his feelings, about hope and despair, about all the things that went through his mind, about all the things he wanted Kamukura to do, the places he wanted him to touch, the way he wanted him to bend him over that bed and fuck him senseless, but he didn't. He _couldn’t._ He wasn’t worthy enough to bore Kamukura Izuru with his nonsense babbling, wasn’t special enough to entertain him, wasn’t selfish enough to ask him to do all the stuff that went through his mind. 

He just couldn’t afford to lose this… _Thing,_ they had. Whatever that was. _If_ there was something to begin with,

“I’m okay, Kamukura-kun, really,” is what Komaeda ended up saying, chuckling softly, dully, flatly. “Don’t worry your beautiful little head about me, or about the collar. It’s okay. It’s in its place.”

Kamukura fell silent again, fingers still under the metal collar on his neck, other hand still on his thin waist. Through his shoulders, Komaeda saw Kamukura’s lips being pressed in a thin line, his eyebrows just barely furrowing, and his usual bored expression giving place to a new one _–annoyance._ Irritation. Frustration.

After a moment, Kamukura just quietly nodded. “Very well,” was all he said before returning to his previous task and finishing the application of the ointment, expression back to its usual bored one.

(So hot, _so hot._ Kamukura was so hot, it was not fair.)

The room was so damn cold.

Komaeda shivered when the cold wind blew through the broken windows and hit his naked chest like sharp daggers, making him hiss through his teeth and inevitably looking away from Kamukura in order to curl into himself to try to get himself warmer. His motion was what apparently snapped Kamukura out of whatever he was thinking, making the man silently leave his seat behind him in order to look for clean bandages to wrap his chest again –it didn’t take him long to find them, in the old bedside table, and return to his previous seat to carefully wrap the new clean bandages over Komaeda’s wounds in silence, with the only sound in the cold being the wind hissing as it passed through the broken windows.

Once Kamukura finished re-wrapping his chest, two or so minutes later, he walked to the small wardrobe and picked some folded clothes, then placed them in front of Komaeda in silence before leaving the room equally silently.

Komaeda watched him go with arched eyebrows, waited until he was sure he wasn’t coming back, then sighed. Then smiled dizzily. Then started giggling, and then burst out laughing, and he had absolutely no idea why he was laughing –maybe he finally went nuts, totally bonkers. Or maybe it was because he was so, so tired from not having had more than two hours of sleep per night in the past three weeks that nothing actually made sense through his currently hazy mind and glassy eyes. Maybe he was actually sleeping, dreaming at the moment, because none of this made sense.

Kamukura Izuru, none other than the embodiment of hope himself, saved him from certain death, probably carried him to this place (was it bridal style? Or on his back? Did he drag him through his legs all the way here, like a trash bag? Or through his chain? It would certainly explain the almost unbearable pain he felt in his entire body, but he didn’t really mind), tended to his wounds, _stitched_ and _cleaned_ and _wrapped_ them in _clean bandages,_ and made medicine specifically for him (this one is more of a reach). Gave him new, clean clothes. Let him sleep on an _actual bed_ instead of cardboards in the floor. Didn’t look down at him, didn’t look at him with disgust in his eyes, was actually _nice_ to him. Offered to take the chain and the metal collar off his neck, reminded him that he was not “Servant” anymore.

None of this made _any actual sense._

Still giggling and with glassy eyes, Komaeda hazily took the folded clothes in front of him and tossed the grey sweatshirt over his head, gripping the too long sleeves and falling back on his back, staring at the musty and cracked ceiling above him with a drunk smile, promptly ignoring the outburst of pain that ran through his body.

It didn’t take long for him to drift into a peaceful, untroubled sleep, dreaming of long pitch-black hair and beautiful crimson red eyes.  
  


**-x-  
  
**

(When he woke up, many hours later, Kamukura was nowhere to be seen, but there was a plate with fresh food, a cup of clean water and two painkillers on the bedside table, and an additional blanket over him. He quickly ate the food, took the painkillers and fell back asleep barely a minute later.)  
  


* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City.

These days, it has been getting colder.

Because he lost count of the days, and because it’s been a while since he last saw an actual calendar, it took him a while to understand why: winter was coming. Peeking just around the corner, not quite there yet but already making itself present, winter started showing its first signals of arriving in the sudden drops of the already cold temperatures and the forever grey skies. After the world’s fall, winter in Towa City became something like an ordeal, like a trial –only those who managed to find a shelter could survive, because surviving the winter living on the streets was something very close to impossible.

With the disbandment of the Warriors of Hope and consequently the loss of his shelter, Komaeda didn’t know if he would walk through this winter.

He stayed in Kamukura’s place for about a week or two before leaving in the middle of the night, sneaking his way out in silent steps, after his wounds were fully healed and he no longer needed to waste Kamukura’s precious time with such an unimportant thing like that; Kamukura had other things to do, other business to attend. He couldn’t keep being a burden like that. He had to _go,_ even though he didn’t want to, so he ran away in the middle of the night during the short span of time where Kamukura was out to deal with his own demons, just so he could go without the man trying to convince him to stay (not that Kamukura would ever do this, of course. But he was allowed to dream, to hope, to imagine that the man cared about him even if just a tiny bit to ask him to stay.)

Which is why he was now back to wandering aimlessly among the destroyed streets of the ruined city, safe from the coldness of the city in his new trench coat (also found on the streets with someone who no longer needed it) after losing the previous one, the metal collar on his neck so sharply cold to the point it was uncomfortable. His wounds didn’t hurt anymore, but the ghost feeling of Kamukura’s fingers applying ointment to them every night still remained, like a tattoo, forever marked on his brain.

(It’s in the lonely and cold nights, almost a month after he left, that he wished he could’ve stayed with Kamukura. That he wished he had accepted Kamukura’s offer to take off his chain and that he could forget about Towa City, the Remnants of Despair, the oppressive coldness of the city and everything else, just so he could live with nothing but the man’s hope. That he wished they were just _Kamukura Izuru_ and _Komaeda Nagito,_ living together in a forsaken world with nothing but each other to rely on, and not _Super High School Level Hope_ and _Super High School Level Good Luck.)_

Sometimes, too, when things got tough, he just wished those overwhelming feelings would disappear.

In a world filled with despair, he knew those feelings were not good. They were never good. They were _dangerous,_ risky and carried a huge potential for people to use them against him. To use those feelings to inflict pain, to inflict _despair._

So despairful, so despairful. Truly, really despairful; how would Kamukura look like in despair? How would he react? Or how would Komaeda _himself_ react if someone used Kamukura against him? Just what kind of hope would this despair bring him, if he were to lose Kamukura? If he were to lose the _only_ person who apparently cared about him, even if just for unknown reasons, in his own twisted way?

(Komaeda didn’t think about Nanami, couldn’t think about her –everything about Nanami and her gruesome demise was way too painful for him to think about, way too sorrowful. Way too despairing, even for a world so filled with said thing.)

He was just so tired. So, so tired –physically, mentally and spiritually tired. Sometimes, he just wished everything would stop, even if just for a moment, so he could rest for a bit; the world, despair, the pain. He wished to go back to the age of three, back when his parents were still alive and life was easy, back when there was no such thing as hope and despair and a lucky cycle.

Maybe in another life.

Because of the increasingly cold weather, there were fewer people on the streets than usual, most of them probably seeking shelter in sewers or deactivated subways while those who did not have a fixed shelter tried to warm themselves with fire barrels under the destroyed bridges or inside the destroyed buildings, deep down knowing the barrels probably wouldn’t be enough to keep the coldness away, patiently waiting for Death to proclaim them.

(So despairful, so despairful. To accept and wait for their deaths like, they truly had hope inside of them. How beautiful and utterly tragic. Truly, truly despairing.)

It was easier to walk among the streets, too, when there were fewer people outside, because the less people around the less Monokumas around as well. He could walk around without risking being caught in a surprise attack again.

Curling into his trench coat and rubbing his hands against one another, Komaeda moved forward, deeper into the ruined city and its unavoidable coldness.

He wished he had stayed with Kamukura.  
  


**-x-  
  
**

It took a while for them to meet again.

It wasn’t pretty, too, because their encounters were never pretty.

After the extinguishment of the Warriors of Hope and consequently the end of the Demon Hunt, people started to slowly resume their old routine –try to find a new job and a place to live, form new bonds, meet new people, try to get used to their new life, survive, repeat. Most of them were just innocent people who were just unfortunate enough to be trapped in a wasteland in the middle of a war with no way out, people who just wanted to survive. But they were not the only ones in Towa City. They were never the only ones there.

There were also people who were just rotten inside, bad by nature –bad people who, when affected by the ‘ _despair’_ outbreak, became even worse. People who took pleasure in other people’s suffering, people who simply enjoyed the chaos, people who wanted to see the world go down in flames just like a long late enemy of his.

 _Despair is nothing but a sick, nasty disease,_ Komaeda had always thought. _A parasite_ that destroyed people from inside out, that killed them slowly and agonizingly. A highly contagious virus that spread quickly and was highly deadly.

The riots and mayhem began not long after the end of the _Demon Hunt._ Komaeda called them “the second wave”.

Because of his good luck, he was never directly caught into one of them, but he knew they were there. Everyone knew. If Towa City wasn’t a no man’s land before, it definitely became one after the Towa Empire fell into ruins. People took the streets, fighting and killing each other over minimal things, stole, broke, destroyed what hadn’t been destroyed yet, and those who didn’t fit into the chaos just lived hiding in fear, back at being hopeless, lost, disoriented, waiting for a saving grace that deep down they knew that wouldn’t come.

Komaeda was one of the few people who adventured themselves into the dangerous streets of the cold city.

It was part because he trusted his good luck, but also part because he knew his looks kept people away –the heavy chain still hanging from his neck, the deep eyebags, the wild and dirty hair, his torn clothes, the glassy eyes. Everything about his current appearance just screamed “stay away”, so people did. _Most_ people did.

(Also, it wasn’t like people had never seen him. He was on TV more than once, during his time as _‘Servant’._ They knew him. They knew what he'd done.)

 _Most_ people.

Hence the previous issue about him meeting Kamukura again.

Sometimes, his luck cycle just struck at random times. He was already used to it, had been since he was five or so. Which is why when he accidentally ran into a group of ‘troublemakers’ after blindly turning on a corner, he wasn’t surprised. Which is why when one of the troublemakers _noticed_ him and called him out, he also wasn’t surprised. It was just his bad luck striking.

He just smiled friendly at them, waved lazily, then turned on his heels and returned to the same path he came from.

(He refused to call these people “remnants of despair”, because they were _not_ remnants – _he_ and _his friends_ were remnants, _they_ felt despair, _they_ had despair engraved deeply inside their hearts. These people were just bad, rotten people. They didn’t know hope, nor did they know despair. They just wanted trouble. _Troublemakers.)_

When he returned to the alleyway he came from, going back to the main street he previously was, he was met with another group of troublemakers.

Not for the first time, he cursed his son of a bitch luck cycle under his breath.

Luckily, this group of people didn’t notice him, but it was just a matter of time until they did –the other group probably chased him through the alley, looking for trouble, and as far as he was concerned, this new group had nothing to do with the previous one. As soon as the groups ran into each other, the chaos was bound to happen. And he was bound to be caught in the middle of a gang fight.

Ah, what a _lovely_ day.

He sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled flatly under his breath, cursing his luck cycle yet again. He wondered if that was the day he would finally kick the bucket; if that was, then he hoped his death could be quick, but he doubted those people would ever be so kind.

Sighing again, Komaeda smiled a shaky smile, embracing himself for his death when the gangs finally met and the screaming began.

However, before any of the gangs could reach him, someone else did. Someone grabbed his left arm and dragged him away from the fight right in the last second, just in time for the brawl to begin, pulling him back into the alley and running deeper and deeper into it until they were far from the fight and properly hidden behind a wall.

Komaeda smiled the entire time, because he didn’t need to see the face of his merciful saving angel. He simply knew who it was. His body would recognize the firm grip and the graceful hands anywhere.

Maybe his luck cycle wasn’t _all_ that bad, after all.

He smiled dizzily at the man, feeling his cheeks warming up in excitement, but the smile vanished as soon as he was shoved painfully against the dirty wall of the alley, and the delighted expression gave place to a confused one.

 _“What-”_ he started, frowning, but didn’t have time to finish his sentence.

“What are you _doing!?”_ Kamukura snapped, and Komaeda just blinked in surprise. After all this time ever since they met, almost four years ago, this was the very first time he ever saw Kamukura lose his cool and raise his voice.

(He tried not to think about how sexy this was, to have Kamukura yelling at him.)

“Why hello to you too, Kamukura-kun.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

“Do you want me to answer honestly?”

_“Komaeda.”_

_“Kamukura,”_ Komaeda firmly shot back, eyes darkening and voice lowering an octave to match Kamukura’s. He could nearly feel spirals swirling in his irises. “What are you even doing here? Are you following me now?”

“I am not,” Kamukura answered, hands still gripping the collar of Komaeda’s sweatshirt. His cold stare _burned._ “But maybe I should.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Komaeda said, arching an eyebrow and scoffing under his breath. His vision was almost blurred by the glassy look in his eyes. “Mind to tell me?”

“You keep running into certain death, it’s why.” Kamukura firmly replied, pushing Komaeda slightly further against the filthy wall, not enough to hurt but enough to make a point. “It’s _bothersome._ And _boring.”_

“Yeah? And why do you care?”

“Why don’t _you_ care?” Kamukura shot back. “It’s _your_ life at stake.”

“Is that so?” Komaeda scoffed again. “Ah, but I wouldn’t say _‘certain’_ death, y’know, since last time I checked I was pretty much alive and breathing. Or at least just breathing, since _‘alive’_ is quite a strong word, wouldn’t you think?” 

_“Certain death,”_ Kamukura repeated, more firmly, “because if I was not there, you would not have survived.”

Komaeda stopped. Blinked once, twice, and the glassy expression in his eyes faded a little. Suddenly, he was made very aware of Kamukura’s thigh in the middle of his legs.

“So you _are_ following me,” he said after a moment, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes. Then, he gave Kamukura a crooked, smug smile, his glassy expression back to his eyes. “Thought so. Say, is this your _Super High School Level Stalker_ talent? Perhaps _Super High School Level Serial Killer?_ Or _Super High School Level Hitman?_ Whatever it is, why use it in useless trash like me?” He then made a pause, “unless...” He licked his lips and bit up a suggestive smile, eyes falling to a half-lid, a bit of drool escaping from the corner of his lips. He tilted his head to the side. “Unless you were just waiting for the perfect moment to kill me yourself, Kamukura-kun. Is that it? We’re alone now, so now is your chance, yes? So go on. _Kill me._ I don’t mind. As long as it’s _you,_ and for the sake of hope, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“I am _not_ going to kill you,” the man affirmed, promptly ignoring his lunatic babbling, seeming to want to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, but he didn’t. “And I am _not_ following you, neither. You know it.”

“Oh, so you’re going to say now that you running into me almost kicking the bucket several times in a roll is what? Coincidence? _Fate?”_

Kamukura barely raised an eyebrow. If Komaeda wasn’t so close to his face, he would’ve missed it. “Is this how you’re calling it now?”

The glassy expression was suddenly fully gone from Komaeda’s eyes. All that remained was surprise, and a bit of embarrassment.

It took him a while to understand.

When he did, he blinked, feeling like he was just slapped in the face. “Luck?”

Kamukura didn’t reply, just blankly stared at him, silently, hands still on his collar and thigh between his legs. His grip softened a bit, but his hands remained there.

Komaeda squinted his eyes, still not totally convinced. “You’re saying my luck is keeping me alive until you find me? That it’s putting you on my way?”

“I’m saying your luck is naturally sending me towards you.”

“Our luck was supposed to cancel each other.”

“Only when put directly against each other.”

“Ah,” Komaeda said, suddenly feeling his cheeks warming up, this time from utter embarrassment. So it _was_ his luck sending Kamukura towards him, after all. It wasn’t only his imagination. He licked his lips again, then bit them softly. “I see now. Do forgive me for being stubborn and presumptuous, though. And for unconsciously making you my bodyguard. _And_ for raising my voice at you.”

Kamukura hummed. “It would be preferable if you avoided getting into deadly situations instead of simply apologizing and immediately putting yourself in a war zone soon after.”

“Ah, it’s only my bad luck striking,” Komaeda giggled softly, resting his head in the wall behind him and unconsciously spreading his legs just a bit to fit Kamukura’s thigh between them more comfortably. “Only… My bad luck… Striking…” Now that the glassy expression and the fog in his eyes were gone, he could _feel_ the heat radiating from Kamukura’s body, the dark cloak over his shoulders wrapping both of them like a heavy curtain keeping the heat in and the cold out, and it was overwhelming. It was too much. Kamukura’s presence was too much _–fuck,_ Kamukura was basically _caging_ him, trapping him against the wall with no way out, how did he not notice it before? Was it because of the fog in his eyes? Because he was too irritated to do it? Or because he was too fucking horny? How did he not notice how suggestive this looked?

With his heart racing in his chest, he wondered what this position looked like from the outside, Kamukura pressing him against the wall like that and hovering him so, so closely. What it looked like they were doing alone in a dark alley like that, what an outsider would think they were doing.

He thick-swallowed, looked away from the top of the building in front of him in order to face Kamukura, and couldn’t help but sigh under his breath when he was met with the sight of deep crimson red eyes that seemed to _glow_ in the scarce light of the alleyway, fiery and freezing at the same time, that seemed to stare right into his soul and unfold each one of his dark secrets and filthy wishes, and he wondered.

He wondered if those blazing eyes could see all the things he fantasized about. Wondered if they knew all the things he wanted to do. Wondered if they could feel his racing heart.

Wondered if anyone would be able to see anything if they decided to go at it right there, behind the wall, in a filthy, cold alleyway in the heart of the filthy, cold Towa City.

 _Ah,_ he dully thought, giggling internally. _How filthy of me to be imagining all these things about a man who just scolded me about my shitty bad habits._

“What?” Kamukura said, his hoarse voice pulling Komaeda away from his dirty thoughts, and it was only then that he noticed he’d made the mistake of saying that out loud.

_Shit._

“A-ah,” he stammered, giggling nervously. _Shit,_ what would Kamukura _think?_ How nasty, how utterly repulsive and disgusting of him, to be imagining these things about him. He prayed for all the gods he knew for the man to not have understood what he said. “N-nothing.”

 _“Komaeda,”_ Kamukura pressed, but Komaeda looked away from his face and giggled nervously again.

“A-ah, d-do you think the fight stopped? It’s getting colder and dark and it’s not good to be outside so late at night, you know?” Komaeda said, looking anywhere but Kamukura’s face. He half-hissed, half-sighed under his breath when Kamukura moved his thigh slightly upward between his legs, and his knees trembled like he was walking a tightrope; if he wasn’t resting against the wall, he would’ve definitely fallen. “Maybe- maybe I should go and look for a place to spend the night, yes? Did you know people don’t let you come into their shelter if you show up too late at night? I always thought it was sorta dumb but I-”

“Komaeda,” Kamukura said again, changing the grip on his collar to grip on his jaw, once again not enough to hurt but enough to catch his attention and keep him from looking away. Komaeda bit up another sigh and felt the words instantly dying at the tip of his tongue at Kamukura’s tone, his eyes falling to a half-lid as Kamukura gripped his jaw to hold his stare. The glazed expression didn’t return to his eyes, but his eyes _did_ fog a little, and his heart started racing. “I told you, small talk is _boring._ If you have something to say, _say it,”_ he proceeded, eyes locked with Komaeda’s, stare firm and full of something Komaeda couldn’t put a name on.

Then, as if those words weren't already enough to make Komaeda tremble from head to toes, Kamukura arched his eyebrows just a little bit and leaned slightly forward, his aura burning hot and heavy and almost oppressive. It wasn’t until now, so close to his face, that Komaeda noticed the tiny pale freckles spread all over the man’s nose. “If you want me to do something, _say it.”_

In a haze, with his eyes half-lidded, Komaeda allowed himself to be selfish. “Kiss me.”

And Kamukura, surprisingly, promptly complied.

Komaeda immediately moaned as soon as their lips touched, melting into Kamukura’s touch, legs finally faltering beneath him and basically making him sit on Kamukura’s thigh, throwing his arms around Kamukura’s shoulders to bring him closer as the man held his jaw with one hand and circled his thin waist with the other, pulling him closer and pressing him further against the filthy wall until their bodies were fully pressed together and Komaeda could feel Kamukura’s crotch grinding harshly against his, and everything felt so unbearably _hot_ that he could even mistake the forever cold city for someplace else. _Hell,_ maybe. Or heaven.

Moaning, Komaeda delighted himself in the taste of Kamukura’s lips finally, _finally_ against his own, out of his imagination, so impossibly soft and burning hot and so ridiculously _better_ than each one of his dirty thoughts, and in the perfect rhythm they moved together, slow and intense and then fast and sloppy and wet and so hot, so fucking _hot._ It was too much. Too much, but never enough.

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Komaeda permitted Kamukura to deepen the kiss as soon as he felt the tip of the man’s tongue poking his lips, opening his mouth to allow him to dive in, letting out a long moan from the back of his throat when their tongues finally met. Kamukura swallowed each one of his dirty moans in an open-mouthed, obscenely wet kiss, expertly licking the entire interior of his mouth, sucking and biting and licking his lips and tongue and if he minded how nastily wet the kiss was, he didn’t say anything.

 _Fuck,_ Komaeda thougth as Kamukura kissed the air out of his lungs. He was so fucking _gone._ He was so, so fucked.

And he needed _more._ He needed so, so much _more._

“T.. Touch… me,” he boldly moaned between kisses as Kamukura parted their lips and changed his reddish and kiss-swollen lips for his neck, tilting his jaw to the side with his hand to have more space to kiss and mark, sucking the sickly pale skin right under his ear, over the metal collar, in a way that anyone could see the marks that eventually would appear there.

“Where?” Kamukura asked, gripping Komaeda’s waist in a way that would probably leave bruises there, the other hand still gripping his jaw softly.

 _“Everywhere,”_ Komaeda breathed, taking the opportunity to enlace the fingers of his right hand with Kamukura’s dark hair and feel the silk-like strands under his digits –just as he expected, his hair truly was softer than he could ever imagine. Kamukura unconsciously jerked his hips forward as Komaeda softly pulled his hair, grinding their crotches again (grinding their _erections,_ Komaeda hazily acknowledged it _._ Kamukura was _hard,_ Komaeda made Kamukura _hard),_ taking another strangled moan from Komaeda and a soft hiss from Kamukura. “Touch me, mark me, wreck me. Ruin me. Ravish me. Please, _please.”_

“Mm, as you wish.”

Kamukura slid his hand, the one that originally was on Komaeda’s waist, down, down, until he reached the very apparent bulge in Komaeda’s trousers and softly touched his already pathetically hard boner over his clothes, making Komaeda let out a soft whine. Then, as he kissed his neck, Kamukura blindly unfastened his belt and slid his hand _inside_ his trousers, and Komaeda couldn’t help but gasp loudly at the overwhelming feeling of being touched by Kamukura Izuru, the embodiment of hope himself, someone who had been living on his mind ever since they met, someone he found himself immediately attracted to. Someone he could even dare to say he had a “passion” for.

He swore he saw stars.

It didn’t take long for him to pathetically paint with a strangled cry of Kamukura’s name, tears forming in the corner of his eyes and face hidden in the curve of Kamukura’s neck as he emptied into the man’s expert hands, his heart beating so fast inside his chest that he was afraid he would actually have a heart attack.

“Please,” he whimpered, weakly, drool rolling down his chin and his legs trembling once again like he was walking a tightrope after having the best orgasm of his entire life. _“Please,_ take me home.” 

Kamukura hummed in affirmation right against his ear, the vibration sending shivers down his spine, then grabbed the end of the chain hanging from his neck and gave it a soft pull towards himself, lips hovering Komaeda’s.

_“As you wish.”  
  
_

**-x-  
  
**

(The next morning, Komaeda woke up in an enclosed place free from the oppressive coldness of the forever cold Towa City, a bare chest warmly pressed against his equally bare back, marks from the previous night spread all around his body. The chain that used to hang from his neck and the metal collar were nowhere to be seen.)

* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City.

Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko and Pekoyama Peko were the first ones to join them in the forever cold town.

It happened just a couple of days after that evening in the alleyway with Kamukura, randomly, unexpectedly, in a way that made Komaeda think it was some sort of vivid dream instead of reality because there was simply no reason for them to suddenly show up in Towa City after almost four years since the Tragedy, almost four years after they all last saw each other. It just didn’t make any sense.

Which is why when he caught a glimpse of Kuzuryuu’s overcoat and Pekoyama’s long silver hair in the ruined streets, he didn’t even bat an eye. He just shrugged and ignored it, walking over the parapet of a low building holding a bag full of medical supplies for Kamukura, returning to their now shared apartment. He didn’t even mention it to the man.

It was only a couple of days later, when he _actually_ ran into Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama, that he found out that that wasn’t, in fact, a fever dream. Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko and Pekoyama Peko truly were in Towa City.

Komaeda never thought he would ever see any of his former classmates again.

He never thought, too, that said former classmates would ever try to ambush him after all this time.

How rude.

It wasn’t like he _didn’t know_ he was being ambushed when it happened, to be honest. They _were_ still in despair, after all, so it was only natural that trust didn’t come so easily. _Especially_ after almost four years apart –no one knew how much the others had changed during this time, how much despair had affected them. Doubt was natural, mistrust was _smart;_ strange would it be if they had continued to trust each other after all this time, not the other way around.

(Besides, it wasn’t like he was all that close to his classmates anyway, even back when they were _still_ classmates, so he would let that pass that time.)

Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama picked a good alleyway for their ambush, far from everything and with no way out. They made sure no one saw him going into the alleyway, too, as they lured him there. Good place for interrogation, perfect spot for assassination; if he were to die there, no one would find his body for a good couple of days. They truly went to great lengths to find a perfect spot for their fateful encounter.

Komaeda should humour them. As their personal host, it was the least he could do.

He let them lure him into the alleyway, let them think that they were one step ahead of him, that he didn’t know what they were planning, let them think they were in control.

They were about to have quite the big surprise.

When he walked into the alleyway, going further and further into the darkness of it until he reached the dead end and the entrance no longer could be seen, Komaeda patiently waited for his former classmates to show themselves, hands casually behind his back, laid-back smile on his lips, wondering which one would play bad cop and which one would play good cop.

He waited for one, two, five, ten minutes until they were sure no one else was around, and then finally began to act.

There was a shuffle of clothes behind him, as if someone were moving quickly, and not a second later Komaeda felt the familiar coolness of a blade at his neck, aimed at his vitals.

“Oh?” He smiled, trying to look sideways at his former classmate behind him, pretending he didn’t know this was exactly what she would do. “Why hello there, Pekoyama-san! Long time no see.”

Pekoyama didn’t reply, but Komaeda already expected her not to.

“Komaeda.”

Komaeda looked away from Pekoyama to the new voice, coming from the shadows at the back of the alley. It was Kuzuryuu, of course, with a hat half-covering his eyes, trench coat elegantly wrapping his petite body. He didn’t change all that much since the last time he’d seen him –except, of course, for the fancy eye patch covering his right eye which, like the striped glove on Komaeda’s left arm, hid a part of a long late enemy that they would always carry with themselves.

“Ah, Kuzuryuu-kun!” He gave Kuzuryuu the same wide smile he gave Pekoyama, trying not to move too enthusiastically to avoid having his neck accidentally cut. “Greetings!”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Kuzuryuu said, seeming to already be annoyed. He moved away from the shadows, taking a couple of steps towards Komaeda and stopping a few feet away from him. It was only then that Komaeda noticed the cigar in his hands. “So this is where you’ve been, hm? How long have you been here?”

“Since the beginning,” Komaeda easily replied, smiling. Kuzuryuu nodded.

“Four years, then?” He said, and it was Komaeda’s turn to nod, even though he knew it was a rhetorical question. “Mhm, I see.”

“What about you?” Komaeda tried to chitchat. “How are things going, where have you been?”

“Around,” Kuzuryuu nodded again and shrugged with indifference, taking a drag from his cigar and then blowing the smoke out after a moment, watching the grey tendrils rising towards the crimson red skies. He scoffed. “What a shitty hellhole you found to live in, Komaeda. Holy shit.”

“You eventually get used to it,” Komaeda giggled, shoulders shaking with the movement, and Pekoyama instantly pressed the blade further against his neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make him stop moving. He eyed her sideways, pressed his lips in a thin line, then smiled openly at Kuzuryuu again. “But do say, what are you two doing here?” 

Kuzuryuu shrugged quietly. “Visiting. Just passing by.”

“Ah, I see,” Komaeda squinted his eyes just a slight bit at Kuzuryuu and looked over the man’s shoulder for only a second before looking back at his face. He then tilted his head slightly to the side, eyed Pekoyama sideways, and smiled openly again. “It’s good to see you two stayed together after the Tragedy. Really is.”

“Yeah, we just-”

“But you see, Kuzuryuu-kun,” he proceeded, interrupting Kuzuryuu with his open smile becoming even wider, wider, to the point it became maniac, evil. Kuzuryuu instantly shut his mouth and frowned. “You’re not the only one who has a companion now.”

Kuzuryuu barely had time to process Komaeda’s words before a tall, lithe figure suddenly emerged from the shadows behind him and stopped right at his back, aiming a sharp dagger right to the vital points of his throat, crimson red eyes shimmering in the dark alley.

Komaeda felt Pekoyama immediately faltering behind him. _“Yo- Young Master!”_

“Now, Kuzuryuu-kun, Pekoyama-san,” Komaeda continued, unbothered by Pekoyama’s sword at his throat, layers upon layers of darkness folding up over the spirals swirling in his irises as he smiled wickedly. “Mind to tell us the real reason why you came to Towa City or shall we rip the information out of you?”

Kuzuryuu squinted his eyes at Komaeda, shocked and surprised at the same time. He dropped his cigar in favor of holding the man’s arm around his shoulders, trying to keep the dagger away from his vitals. “Are you- are you seriously _threatening us?!_ Have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Why _yes, of course_ I’m threatening you,” Komaeda easily replied, giggling softly. “You suddenly came to _my_ city, put a sword to my throat and expected me to act all buddy-buddy with you? Like _really?_ Is this how you treat your personal host? Don't you have manners?”

“Do I really have to remind you I am literally _Yakuza_ and Peko over there besides literally having you on her grip is the _Super High School Level Kendoka?”_

Komaeda gave Kuzuryuu a smug smile. “Say, Kuzuryuu-kun, have you asked yourself who is this man behind you?”

“No?” As if just waiting for Komaeda to mention this, Kuzuryuu shot the man a look over his shoulders, squinting his eyes at him. “Who is this?”

Komaeda’s smile turned even more smug. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Kuzuryuu squinted his eyes at Komaeda, then looked at the man again.

“Who are you?”

The man hummed, bored. “Kamukura Izuru.”

Komaeda took delight in seeing Kuzuryuu’s face paling.

_“K… Kamukura-”_

“You know who this is, don’t you?” Komaeda asked, face flushed and eyes glassy. “So to answer your previous question: _no,_ you _do not_ need to remind me who you or Pekoyama-san are. I haven’t forgotten, I just don’t care.”

“Peko still has you on her grip,” Kuzuryuu reminded him. Pekoyama pressed her sword a bit further against his neck to prove Kuzuryuu’s point, the blade cutting a very superficial cut on his skin, but Komaeda didn’t care.

“And Kamukura-kun still has you on his,” he simply replied, shrugging, smiling. “Let’s think about a scenario where you and Pekoyama-san react first, yes? Kamukura-kun kills you and then Pekoyama-san kills _me,_ then both of them will fight until one of them inevitably dies. Now you see, I am _not_ doubting or underestimating Pekoyama-san’s skills, for I’ve seen them before and I _know_ just how amazing and hopeful she is, but Pekoyama-san’s _Super High School Level Kendoka_ talent is just that. _One_ talent. And Kamukura-kun…” he made a pause, biting up a smile, a thin line of saliva dripping from his chin, face flushed. “Kamukura-kun is hope himself. He has _all_ the talents, _including_ Pekoyama-san’s. _Yours,_ too. And _mine,”_ he then allowed the smile to form on his lips, wickedly, naughtly, maniacally. _Despairful._ “Now, just who do you think would win in this scenario? Pekoyama-san, with her amazing Super High School Level Kendoka talent, or Kamukura-kun, _also_ with her Super High School Level Kendoka talent, but with the addition of my Good Luck, your Yakuza, and quite a few other useful talents? Soldier, Assassin, Analyst, Strategist...? Say, Kuzuryuu-kun, who has the higher ground here?”

Kuzuryuu fell silent, looking at Komaeda with his lips pressed in a thin line, jaw clenched, hands opening and closing in fists by his sides. Komaeda could feel Pekoyama shaking slightly behind him, the blade of her sword unsteady against the skin of his neck, and this made him smile smugly again –he truly managed to catch them off guard with Kamukura. How lucky of him.

After a moment in silence, pondering about his current situation and possible outcomes, Kuzuryuu sighed. “What do you want?”

“I _told_ you,” Komaeda said. “I want you to tell us the real reason why you came to Towa City. You’re not here just to visit, you’re not just “passing by”. There’s a reason why you’re here, and I wanna know what that reason is.”

“You didn’t seem to be surprised when we got you,” Kuzuryuu said, ignoring his question. “Did you already know we were here?”

“I did,” Komaeda naturally nodded. “You don’t come to someone’s house and expect to go unnoticed.”

“When?”

“A couple of days ago,” he replied. “Saw you two while I was picking some stuff for Kamukura-kun and I’s love nest. Although I _did_ think I was just imagining things.”

“And you still let yourself get caught because…?”

“Once again, because you don’t come to someone’s house and expect to go unnoticed,” he gave Kuzuryuu a crooked smile. “And because you two couldn’t possibly know about Kamukura-kun, so I had the advantage. Also, my luck. Easy.”

“So you two _are_ companions,” Kuzuryuu said, sounding astonished, scoffing in disbelief. “Holy shit, how did you manage to get your dirty little paws on _the_ Kamukura Izuru?”

“Ah, isn’t luck an extraordinary thing?” Komaeda smiled, spirals swirling in his eyes. “Now, how about you stop trying to mislead me and answer my question?”

Kuzuryuu stared at him in silence for a moment, lips pressed in a thin line, before sighing again. “There are rumors,” he started, “about a war that’s about to outbreak. About an organization that aims to hunt the remnants of despair. Towa City was the venue.”

“And this organization’s name is…?”

It was Pekoyama who replied. “Future Foundation.”

Komaeda blinked. “Oh?” He smiled again. “Future Foundation, you say? Ah, how convenient. But I suppose it should be expected,” he then paused, hummed, tapped his chin with his index finger. “Though I must say I _am_ surprised at how long it took them to act, since things are getting pretty wild around here. When was the last time you saw Naegi or Fukawa, Kamukura-kun?”

“Naegi Komaru, two and a half months ago. Fukawa Touko, one month and three weeks ago; _Genocider Sho,_ three months ago.” Kamukura easily replied. Kuzuryuu visibly froze at the deep voice so close to his ear, but quickly pretended to relax.

Komaeda nodded. “Ah, I haven’t seen any of them since the fall of the Towa Empire. But I suppose there was no reason for my luck to send them towards me, so it’s understandable.”

“You know the Future Foundation?” Pekoyama asked, unknowingly pressing her blade a bit further against Komaeda’s neck. Kamukura saw this and immediately did the same with Kuzuryuu, staring coldly at Pekoyama until she relaxed her grip at the sword a bit, then he did the same.

“We’re familiar, yes,” Komaeda replied, eyeing her sideways and then smiling at Kamukura. “Though I cannot say we're that cordial towards each other.”

“So you wouldn’t know anything about this supposed damn war, would you?” Kuzuryuu said with a soft, disappointed sigh. Komaeda hummed negatively.

“I’m afraid not, Kuzuryuu-kun. But let me tell you this,” he said, breaking eye contact with Kuzuryuu in order to face the crimson red skies above them, tainted with tendrils of fire smokes and dark grey clouds filled with an upcoming snowstorm. When he looked back at Kuzuryuu, the dark spirals were back to his irises, turning his eyes glassy and his expression wicked. His face flushed, his lips curved up in a twisted smile.

“If they’re seeking war, we shall give them one.”  
  


* * *

  
It didn’t take long for their former classmates to start coming to Towa City after Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama did, one after another.

After Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama, the next ones to join them in the forever cold city (it’s always so damn cold in Towa City) were Owari and Nidai, together. Then, he randomly ran into Souda one evening and found out he’d also been there for a couple of days (although he _did_ come to the city after the first two), working alone in the shadows. Then, Mioda and Saionji, closely followed by Sonia and Koizumi. Imposter came soon after, under the name of “Togami Byakuya”, then Hanamura and Tsumiki. And last, but not least, came Tanaka.

Soon enough, the former class 77-B from the late Hope’s Peak Academy was all together again. The _actual_ remnants of despair.

(Komaeda, again, did not think about a certain short pale pink-haired girl that belonged with them, that _should_ be among them, and how the class looked slightly off without her. Couldn’t think about her. Too painful, _too painful.)_

Once they were all together again, they were separated in groups, because it was easier to work in smaller groups than in larger ones; those who were best skilled in close combat took the frontline (Kuzuryuu, Pekoyama, Nidai, Owari), fighting directly against the Future Foundation crew. Souda, Hanamura, Tsumiki and Togami worked alone behind the scenes. Koizumi, Saionji and Mioda stuck together, using their talents to spread despair with each other’s help. Sonia and Tanaka used their persuasive skills to bring even more people to the dark side. Komaeda and Kamukura also stuck together, leading them from behind the scenes, acting as some sort of “leaders” for the other remnants.

It was quite nice to know that (almost) all of his former classmates would be around this time to fight the upcoming war alongside him, instead of having to face it alone like he previously did.

This and, of course, the magnificent addition of now having Kamukura Izuru, the embodiment of hope himself, by his side.

How lovely. How truly lovely and utterly lucky of him –he knew that living in the name of despair would eventually bring a greater hope, but he would never have expected it to be _this_ great.

Kamukura kissed him so passionately.

It was almost overwhelming, sometimes. Kamukura’s kisses were always fiery and intense, never half-assed, and he always kissed like he meant it. Every time they kissed, Komaeda felt himself getting a little more devoted to Kamukura, to the point that if Kamukura suddenly asked him to burn the city down in flames he would willingly comply. Love and devotion were dangerous things, he knew that, but Pekoyama loved and was devoted to Kuzuryuu and they were just fine, alive, _together,_ living through hell side by side, so Komaeda allowed himself to be devoted to Kamukura. He allowed Kamukura to kiss him, deeply, ardently, allowed him to mark his skin and trace his body with his fingertips. He allowed him to touch him, to mouth him, to take beautiful, dirty sounds from the back of his throat, and in return, Kamukura allowed him to wrap his hands around his silk-like pitch black hair and pull the smooth strands, to trace each one of his freckles and birthmarks, to kiss and mark his skin in the same spots as his own so they could match, to touch and kiss his entire body.

Kamukura just made him so, so happy. He was so hopeful.

Komaeda was just so, so lucky to have found him.

Which is why when Kamukura told him about his plan to let themselves get caught by Future Foundation, Komaeda easily agreed with him.

“If I may ask,” Komaeda whispered in the cold, quiet night that Kamukura told him about his plan, legs tangled with the man’s under the warm blankets, twirling a strand of his long hair between his fingers. “Why, though?”

Kamukura hummed, an arm around Komaeda’s shoulders, facing the musty cracked ceiling above them. “I wish to see.”

“See what?”

“Which one would win,” Kamukura explained. “Between hope and despair.”

“Oh?” Komaeda blinked, smiled, then snuggled on Kamukura’s broad, naked chest. “So does that mean you actually know what Future Foundation is planning to do with us?”

 _“Future Foundation_ is planning to kill us. It’s easier and safer than capturing us and trying to talk,” Kamukura said, fingers tracing invisible patterns on Komaeda’s equally naked shoulders. _“Naegi Makoto,_ however, is not.”

Komaeda blinked again, surprised. “You know Naegi Makoto?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But you do know what he’s planning?”

“Naturally,” he quietly nodded. “A reformatory of sorts, although I do not know which sort.”

Komaeda arched an eyebrow. “A reformatory?”

“By all means,” Kamukura nodded again. “Naegi Makoto doesn’t think murder is the solution. He thinks despair is some sort of disease that can be cured with the correct treatment.”

Komaeda then scoffed. “And you do not?”

Kamukura eyed his sideways, then returned to look towards the musty and cracked ceiling. Outside, in the streets, someone cried in agony and the mechanical sounds of a Monokuma echoed loudly around the apartment complex. “I think despair is a necessary and inevitable evil. Humans are simply flawed by nature, easily corrupted by minimal things, and are inclined to do things in the name of what they think is right. When corrupted, they do not think straight.”

Komaeda considered this for a moment, chewing on his lips, before humming. “So you’re saying despair is not a disease, but simply a natural reproduction of human flaws? Corruption?”

“Well, wouldn’t you say hope is natural?”

“Certainly.”

Kamukura nodded. “If hope is natural, then so is despair. Hope and despair are natural enemies, after all. One cannot exist without the other, otherwise their entire existence would not make much sense,” he explained. “I have told you before, have I not? Despair without hope is nothing but utter, raw sorrow, and hope without despair is nothing but blissful naivete. They are two sides of the same coin.”

Komaeda hummed again. “I see,” he said, then chewed on his lips again and turned around to lay over Kamukura’s chest, putting his face in the man’s field of vision. “But when you think about it, isn’t despair some sort of virus? A _disease,_ like Naegi-kun thinks? It inflicts pain on people, makes them do things they normally wouldn’t, takes away their hope. Sounds like a disease to me, Kamukura-kun. A really bad one.”

Kamukura held Komaeda’s stare, the hand that wasn’t around his shoulders raising towards his pale white hair, fingers entangling with the messy strands by his nape. He then lowered himself onto the bed to better adjust their position, now holding Komaeda over his chest in a lazy embrace, before looking towards the ceiling again. He started gently stroking Komaeda’s scalp with the tip of his fingers.

"I think despair merely removes the strings that keep people attached to their morals and sets them free to do whatever they please, without worrying about the consequences.”

“And hope?”

“The opposite.”

“And which one do you think is better?”

“This is what I wish to find out,” Kamukura replied. He closed his eyes, but kept massaging Komaeda’s scalp, his other arm lazily tossed over the man’s waist. “Which one would win this war, hope or despair.”

Komaeda hummed and nodded yet again, staring at Kamukura’s pretty face for another minute before sighing softly under his breath and closing his own eyes, snuggling on the man’s chest until he had his face in the curvature of Kamukura’s neck, the man’s smooth hair tickling his nose as he breathed softly against it.

“Kamukura-kun?” Komaeda said after a minute or so of almost complete silence, the only sounds being heard being the mechanical sounds of the Monokumas outside in the streets, the cold winter wind blowing and the steady, soothing beating of Kamukura’s heart. For a moment, there was no response, what made him think Kamukura had already fallen asleep, but then the man sighed softly under his breath to let Komaeda know he was still awake and listening.

“That’s my name,” Kamukura quietly replied, and Komaeda couldn’t help but smile softly against his neck.

“Whatever it is that you’re planning, whatever it is that you want to do,” Komaeda said, unconsciously snuggling closer to Kamukura, pressing his face further against the man’s neck and inhaling his pleasant smell –shampoo, woodsy vanilla, old books, _love._ Kamukura smelled like hope. “Do you mind telling me first?”

Kamukura didn’t reply for another beat or so, what made Komaeda think he had _finally_ fallen asleep, but then once again he sighed softly and moved on the bed until he was laying on his side, bringing Komaeda with him, holding him against his chest. Komaeda closed his eyes and sighed happily under his breath, snuggling against Kamukura again, entangling their legs under the blankets.

Then, Kamukura told him about his plan –convince their former classmates to allow the Future Foundation to capture them, to allow the Future Foundation to think they were in control of the situation, that they had tamed them and were one step ahead of them, and then bring them down as soon as they let their guard down.

Komaeda listened to him.  
  


**-x-**

  
(He didn’t think his plan would work.)

(He wouldn’t say so.)  
  


* * *

  
It took them almost an entire month to finally convince all their classmates to cooperate with their plan, with the last ones being Kuzuryuu and consequently Pekoyama. Naturally. Of course.

Then, only a day before the fateful day they all agreed to surrender themselves and allow the Future Foundation (no, not _Future Foundation._ Only Naegi Makoto, Togami Byakuya and Kirigiri Kyouko) to take them in, Komaeda finally decided to approach Kamukura in their shared apartment for one last wish, because there was one last thing he needed to do. One last thing he needed to ask before being forced to part ways with Kamukura forever.

(Part ways, yes, because there was no way in hell that Future Foundation would ever allow them to stick together after all the things they’ve done, after all the despair they spread. Not only Kamukura and him, but the others as well. They were stronger when together, after all. Komaeda _knew_ they were going to separate them. It was the smartest thing to do; Future Foundation couldn’t risk a riot coming from inside their headquarters, a brand new war rising from within their own corporation. No, they _had_ to be separated.)

The certainty that he probably would not see Kamukura again after they surrendered themselves (or at least wouldn’t see him for quite a few months) was what gave him the final incentive he needed to approach the man in their apartment that night, only a day before their fateful final day, just a couple of hours before they gave away their freedom, with his heart beating like crazy in his chest and his mind foggy with overwhelming, hazy thoughts.

 _“Izuru.”_ Was what he immediately said once he reached their living room, voice soothing and low, seductive, almost _breathless._ He could _feel_ his face flushed, expression slightly glassy, his heart pumping so loudly inside his chest that he was afraid Kamukura could hear him from the other side of the room, but he didn’t care. He didn’t give a _shit._ He needed this, right here and right now. 

He needed Kamukura.

Kamukura instantly stopped right on his track as soon as he heard him, in the middle of their apartment, slightly widening his eyes at Komaeda for the sudden use of his first name.

“Wh-” He started, but didn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Komaeda quickly crossed the remaining space between them and stopped right in front of him, throwing his arms over his shoulders and pulling him for a heated, open-mouthed fiery kiss. Komaeda felt Kamukura freezing for only a second with the sudden kiss before promptly returning the kiss in the same intensity he was being kissed, an arm circling his waist and the other his chest, pulling him backwards until his back was pressed against the closest wall and their chests were entirely pressed together. Komaeda arched his back on the wall and Kamukura kissed Komaeda fervently, with all the tongues and teeths and filthy sounds he knew that Komaeda liked so much, savoring each one of his dirty moans and gasps, until all the air escaped their lungs and they were forced to break the intense kiss, but even so, Komaeda didn’t allow Kamukura to walk away, just kept his arms around his shoulders in a close embrace and touched their foreheads together as both breathed heavily to slowly recover their breaths, lips red and kiss-swollen and with a thin thread of saliva still connecting them, heart beating so fast inside his chest he was afraid he would have a heart attack.

After a moment of total silence, of just silently staring at each other and breathing heavily together, Komaeda finally whispered, voice hoarse and weak, breathlessly: _“Take me.”_

Kamukura blinked, curious. “What?”

“Take me,” Komaeda repeated, more firmly, eyes dropped to a half-lid, touching Kamukura’s face with his right hand, thumb caressing his cheekbone. That closely, he could count each one of the tiny freckles over Kamukura’s nose and cheeks. _“Please.”_

“Komaeda-”

 _“Nagito,”_ Komaeda corrected him, biting his lower lip, staring at Kamukura’s own kiss-swollen lips, reddish and wet and so, so inviting. “Call me Nagito.”

Kamukura stared at him for a moment, his eyes also dropped to a half-lid, lips pressed in a thin line. Komaeda couldn’t help but pull his face towards him, pressing his lips softly against Kamukura’s again, but not deepening the kiss. When they parted, Komaeda opened his eyes to find Kamukura’s closed, lips half-opened, sighing softly under his breath.

 _“Nagito,”_ Kamukura tested the name out, quietly rolling the letters on his tongue, before licking his lips and keeping them between his teeth. _“Nagito.”_

 _“Izuru,”_ Komaeda said back in the same low voice as Kamukura, seductively, softly. “Please, take me.”

Kamukura half-opened his eyes to stare at Komaeda for another moment again, fire burning fiercely inside his crimson red eyes, suddenly dark-red with lust, and Komaeda stared back, his own eyes also dark and lustful, face flushed, breathing heavy. 

Kamukura didn’t reply, just smashed his lips fervently against Komaeda’s again and pressed him further against the old, cracked wall of their living room, placing one thigh between his legs, their bodies entirely glued together.

 ****** That night, Komaeda allowed Kamukura to unwrap him, to unfold each one of his secrets, to rip out each one of the filthy thoughts that went through his mind ever since they met each other in the form of dirty, strangled moans and blissful whimpers, and Kamukura allowed him to do the same, to take beautiful sounds from the back of his throat, to enlace his fingers with his long, silk-like hair strands, to kiss the air out of his lungs. He allowed Kamukura to take him, to go deeper and deeper inside of him until neither of them could tell where one began and the other ended, and Kamukura allowed him to mark him, to touch and kiss and mouth his entire body, and then they allowed each other to cry out their given names as they painted together, safe from the coldness of the city in their love nest, under the burning hot blankets of their shared bed, because the city outside was so damn cold. It’s always so cold in Towa City. ******

Kamukura’s touch, however, was always warm.  
  


* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City.

The day they surrendered themselves to the Future Foundation, however, was surprisingly pleasant.

It was sort of uneasy, if he was being honest. Considering how cold the previous night was, and how sudden changes like that were never good in Towa City. But he figured it was only natural, perhaps even his luck cycle striking, as several guards of the Future Foundation led them further and further into their provisional headquarters, situated in the far north of Towa City, towards the unknown. How amusing it was, having to live in the forever winter weather of the forever cold Towa City for almost four years, only to have the sun shining brightly above their heads right on their last day there. Truly amusing.

Perhaps his good luck wanted him to see the shining sun again before being trapped God only knows where for God only knows how long.

Kamukura was a comforting, constant presence by his side as the guards led them further into the headquarters, his cold red eyes stuck with his awfully familiar bored stare, long pitch-black hair flowing gracefully with the wind behind him. Every now and then, due to the proximity with which they walked, their fingers slightly brushed and sent an electric wave running through Komaeda’s body, making him feel goosebumps all over, creeping the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck –every time their fingers brushed and he got the goosebumps, Komaeda longed to reach out and hold Kamukura's hand in his, to interlace his fingers just as they were interlaced the night before, but didn’t. He couldn’t. Not outside, not with their classmates around, so he just pushed away his selfish thoughts and moved forward, happy just to have Kamukura by his side.

They took the frontline, and Owari and Nidai followed them closely, ready to protect them just in case the guards decided to try anything. After them, came all the others that were not so skilled in martial arts, and then Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama at the rearguard. Together, all the fifteen of them stepped further and further into the Future Foundation headquarters, into the unknown, not knowing what they were getting themselves into.

Naegi Makoto received them himself.

He didn’t look happy, or smug, like Komaeda thought he would. No, he looked _terrified,_ shocked, surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting _them_ to walk through those gates.

Komaeda didn’t have time to talk to him, the _other_ Super High School Level Hope, for the guards were hurrying them to walk faster, but he _did_ wave at him as he passed by, feeling his cheeks instantly warming up and a smile forming on his lips. He promptly caught Kamukura’s stare as he did so, as the man was in their field of vision, and closed his mouth with a loud sound as soon as he saw the man’s cold stare through squinted eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling his cheeks warming up again, this time from the embarrassment of being caught blushing at another man just a couple of hours after sleeping with this exact man by his side. “It’s just… _Hope.”_

Kamukura just squinted his eyes at Komaeda again, held his stare for a moment, then closed his eyes, sighed softly and kept walking. Komaeda blinked and giggled before following him.

“Dude.”

Komaeda turned around towards the voice, blinking at Souda who was leaning forward towards him, hands in front of his mouth like he was about to tell a secret. They didn’t stop walking.

“Hm?”

Souda looked around to see if anyone was listening before leaning even closer and holding Komaeda’s arm for him to stop walking. He stopped, and when Kamukura was already far enough to not hear then, he shout-whispered: “Am I seeing things, or are you banging _Kamukura Izuru?! What the hell?!_ How did you manage to do that?!”

Komaeda blinked again, then giggled. “Ah, wouldn’t you say luck is an extraordinary thing?”

“Dude, he’s our leader. Our freaking leader. The remnants of despair leader,” Souda said exasperatedly, gesticulating furiously with his hands. “And not just that, but he’s also… Uh, he’s also…”

Komaeda arched an eyebrow, and gave Souda a crooked smile. “Hot?”

“Yeah, that,” Souda grumbled softly and ran his fingers through his hair, his face tinted a pale pink. He then widened his eyes and his face paled. “N-not that you’re ugly or something! You’re not! B-but, he’s- uh, he’s- Yeah. He’s hot. _And_ our leader. _And_ the ultimate talent. You’re a lucky bastard, Komaeda-kun, did you know that?”

“Why of course, Souda-kun. I’m the Super High School Level Good Luck, have you forgotten?”

“It was a rhetorical question,” Souda grumbled again, then his expression quickly twisted into a naughty one and he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows, leaning forward. “So, is it true that he has _all_ the talents? If you know what I mean~”

“Well…” Komaeda smirked, then moved to pull his messy hair to the side in order to expose his neck, where he knew there was a red hickey marking the pale skin. Souda gasped loudly. “I would say _Izuru_ is quite talented, yes~”

“Komaeda Nagito, you nasty dog!”  
  


* * *

  
It’s always cold in Towa City, and he was already used to it, but the cell he was thrown into was particularly cold.

He knew Kamukura’s plan wouldn’t work from the beginning.

It was just that they were too tainted to talk, too corrupted to try to reach an agreement. For Future Foundation, the remnants of despair were nothing but a bunch of savages running wild, already beyond salvation, despicable creatures that needed to be thrown in jail and never be allowed out again. That morning, when they surrendered themselves and allowed the Future Foundation to take them in, they were unknowingly signing their life imprisonment or maybe, if the Future Foundation was merciful enough, their death sentence. They were just unknowingly giving up their life.

Kamukura’s plan was fated to fail from the beginning. 

Komaeda just wished he could’ve told him that when he had the opportunity.  
  


**-x-**

  
He got a routine.

Their day began at 5am, with the guards loudly hitting his door to wake him up and slipping a plate with bread and milk through the tiny slot in the thick metal door of his cell; he had ten minutes to eat before the same guard returned to retrieve the plate. Then, free time from 5am to 10am, where they could leave their cells for a short time to sunbathe (never together, though. The guards never allowed two or more of them to be outside their cells at the same time). Lunch time from 11am to 12pm, back at his cell. Free time again from 12m to 6pm, then bath time from 6pm to 7pm, although bath times were scarce in a land where water itself was scarce, so they usually skipped bath time. Dinner at 9pm, then they were ready to retire for the day. Repeat the next day.

The only good thing about the free times where they could leave their cell, was that the guards liked to gossip, and they were unknowingly giving Komaeda and the others information about the Future Foundation without even noticing it.

(They were planning to off them by the end of the month, one by one, starting with Kamukura. Komaeda would be the last one. Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama would be forced to stay away from each other, because they knew they would try to interfere with each other’s execution. Koizumi, Saionji and Mioda would be executed together. Sonia would get an audience. Nidai and Owari would have to be executed quickly, because of their stubborness and massive strength. He didn’t know much about what they had planned for Souda, Tanaka, Tsumiki, Hanamura and “Togami”.)

Normal people were just so, so boring.

For about a week, that was his routine, until something changed.

He didn’t know what time it was, but the sun had not yet risen and the guards had not yet come to wake him up, so he supposed it was around three in the morning. It was cold, too, that day, but he was already used to it. He woke up to the sound of someone softly calling his name.

When he opened his eyes, through his hazy vision, he saw Kamukura in the middle of his cell.

At first, he thought he was having a vivid dream. He blinked once, twice, rubbed the sleepiness away from his eyes and then yawned before squinting his eyes at Kamukura, still silently staring at him, kneeling down by his bed.

“I.. zuru…?”

“Nagito,” Kamukura said in a low voice, touching Komaeda’s shoulder, and Komaeda was instantly snapped awake. That wasn’t a vivid dream, that was _real_ –that was Kamukura in flesh and bone in his cell, touching his shoulder to wake him up, wearing a new, clean black suit. “Let’s go.”

“Go… Where?” Komaeda frowned, still confused by sleep hazeness, but allowed Kamukura to help him stand and then hold his hand, interlacing their fingers together.

Kamukura turned to look at him, fire burning in his cold eyes. _“Go,”_ was all he said before squeezing Komaeda’s fingers softly between his and pulling him to walk alongside him towards his cell’s door. It was only then that he noticed his cell was wide opened.

Once they stepped outside, Komaeda was met not only with the sight of all of his classmates, but also Naegi Makoto.

He instantly felt his cheeks warming up and a smile coming to his lips, but quickly coughed and cleared his throat to mask it.

“Sorry,” he apologized to Kamukura, still holding his hand, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Someone giggled, probably Souda. “Force of habit.”

“Let’s go,” said Naegi Makoto, standing in front of everyone, anxiously looking sideways. “We have about ten minutes before they notice something’s wrong. We don’t have much time.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Koizumi asked, tilting her head to the side. She didn’t look very pleased. “I do appreciate my beauty sleep even trapped in a place like this, you know.”

“Yeah, why do I have to look at Mikan’s ugly face so soon in the morning?” Saionji huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Tsumiki squeaked.

“We’re leaving,” Naegi simply said, then started sprinting towards a tall blond man standing by the end of the hall. They all faced each other for a moment before shrugging.

“Well, it’s not like this can get remotely worse, is it?” Mioda said with an open smile before sprinting towards Naegi and the blond man.

Souda yelped, going after her. “Don’t jinx it!”

They all ran after Naegi after that, with Kamukura patiently waiting for all of them to go ahead of them before finally following shut. They took the rearguard, with Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama just a few feet in front of them, and Naegi and Togami leading them through the endless maze-like halls in the frontline.

“Izuru,” Komaeda asked in a low voice, hand still in Kamukura’s, fingers firmly wrapped together, as they silently sprinted through the long corridors. “Mind to tell me what’s going on here?”

Kamukura hummed, facing forward, eyes calm and collected. “You heard him,” he answered. “We’re leaving.”

Komaeda didn’t say anything else. He trusted Kamukura’s judgement.

Naegi and Togami led them outside, where Kirigiri Kyouko restlessly waited for them by a huge helicopter (private and _definitely_ expensive. Probably Togami’s courtesy), arms crossed over her chest, stomping her foot impatiently on the ground.

Once she saw them, she uncrossed her arms. “About time.”

“Sorry,” Naegi said nervously, scratching his neck. “I may have gotten lost. This facility is new.”

Togami murmured something under his breath, something that sounded awfully like “imbecile”, before Kirigiri stepped away from the helicopter and pointed at the sliding doors. “Well? Get in.”

Komaeda and his former classmates did not. They just all suspiciously faced each other and squinted their eyes at the three Future Foundation members.

“Um,” It was Tsumiki who started. “N-not trying to sound rude, b-but-”

She was cut in the middle of her sentence by a loud siren echoing around the facility, along with red and blue lights.

Kirigiri, Naegi and Togami instantly widened their eyes at the siren and the lights, before Togami started grunting angrily. He stepped on the helicopter ladder and pointed furiously to its inside

“Get _in!”_

This time, everyone complied.

They barely had time to properly sit before the helicopter took flight and they quickly left the Future Foundation headquarters behind before they could even react to their escape.   
  


**-x-  
  
**

They were taken to a fancy building by the port of Towa City. Judging by its appearance, it was a hospital.

Towa City was always cold (always so damn cold), but its hospitals were particularly _freezing._

Komaeda curled into himself to keep himself warm as a few guards (reliable ones) scolded him and his classmates through the long, freezing halls of the hospital, one that he never got into and that looked notably well-equipped and clean. Besides them, there weren't any other people around. That was probably one of the Togami's private hospitals.

When he shivered again, he felt someone putting something over his shoulders. As he looked up from the ground, he noticed it was an olive-green jacket. It was Kamukura who put it on him.

He smiled at the man, lips trembling slightly from the coldness of the halls. “Thank you.”

Kamukura hummed an agreement, then slipped his hand back into Komaeda’s. His hand was warm.  
  


**-x-**

  
“We need to talk.”

Komaeda blinked and looked around to face Kamukura, standing by the closed door of their room (a hospital room, but their room nonetheless), lips pressed in a thin line. He squinted his eyes and frowned at his lover.

“We do?” He said back, more to himself than Kamukura, before walking away from the room’s window to sit on the hospital bed. Kamukura watched him silently, before sighing and crossing the space between them to sit by his side. Komaeda instantly took his hand on his. “What’s wrong?”

Kamukura sighed again, closed his eyes, bit his lips. He looked troubled. 

“I had… A _talk_ with Naegi Makoto,” he said after a moment in silence, slowly, carefully, squeezing Komaeda’s fingers between his. “He told me he has a plan.”

“A plan?” Komaeda echoed. “About what?”

“About us. The remnants of despair,” Kamukura replied. Komaeda frowned. “That reformatory of sorts I once mentioned, do you record?”

“Certainly,” Komaeda nodded. “I remember everything you say to me.”

Kamukura nodded. “I found out what it is about.”

“And what is it?”

“A program,” Kamukura said. “A _virtual_ program. It’s called the Neo Program.”

“So like, virtual reality?” Komaeda arched an eyebrow, Kamukura nodded again. “I see. I suppose the Future Foundation has the technology to do something like that. As long as it’s safe, I don’t see why we shouldn’t agree to it.”

 _“Nagito,”_ Kamukura called him, voice firm yet incredibly soft at the same time. Komaeda blinked, turning around to face him, curious –Kamukura’s voice was not always this soft, not even when they were talking late at night and did not want the others to hear. No, there was something _wrong._ “The Neo Program is supposed to regress our memories back to when we were teenagers. _Before_ despair.”

“Oh?” Komaeda said, blinking again. “Is that so? Well, I suppose that’s one way to… To…”

Oh. _Oh._

 _“Oh,”_ he said out loud, immediately feeling his heart falling into a dark abyss, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He closed his mouth, clenched his jaw, thick-swallowed. Then, he chewed on his lips; if they were regressing their memories back to _before_ despair, then… Then…

“We won’t… We won’t remember each other.”

Kamukura didn’t reply, just closed his eyes and pressed his lips in a thin line, but it wasn’t like he needed to answer. It wasn’t a question.

“We won’t remember each other, will we?” Komaeda pressed, just because he needed an actual confirmation. “We didn’t meet until the Tragedy.”

Kamukura remained quiet for a little longer, then sighed ever so quietly, and squeezed Komaeda’s fingers between his. On his other hand, Komaeda noticed, there was a small, familiar hair clip that once belonged to a good friend of both of them. “We won’t.”

“When are we being put on the program?” Komaeda asked, thick-swallowing again, trying to fight the tears coming to his eyes.

“In a couple of hours,” Kamukura replied quietly. Then, he put Nanami’s hair clip back in his pocket and brought his hand to touch Komaeda’s face, softly caressing his cheekbones, wiping a tear that escaped his eyes with his thumb. “They are just finishing the preparations. Naegi is telling the others.”

Komaeda nodded, sniffed, then looked inside Kamukura’s beautiful crimson red eyes, always so bored and cold, but now so soft and tender, loving, passionate, trying to tattoo his deep stare inside his mind forever, not ready to let it go, not ready to forget it. He held Kamukura’s stare for a moment before Kamukura closed his eyes and gently brought Komaeda’s face closer to his, closing the small distance between their faces to press their lips together ever so softly, kissing him oh-so tenderly. Komaeda sighed in his lips, melting into Kamukura’s addicting touch like he always did, cupping Kamukura’s face with his right hand and tilting his head slightly to the side to allow the kiss to be deepened, briefly opening his mouth, allowing Kamukura to dive in when he felt the tip of the man’s tongue poking his lips. He sighed again as Kamukura deepened the kiss, moving to sit on the man’s lap, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders and kissing him deeply, intensely, as if he wanted to show his love and devotion through his lips, arching his back as Kamukura wrapped both his arms around his thin waist and brought him even closer.

They kissed for what could be minutes or hours, savouring each other’s lips and soft moans, taking quiet sighs from each other, until they were forced to break the kiss to breathe when air made itself necessary. Then, they touched their foreheads together and closed their eyes, breathing in and out in syncrony to recover their breaths, lips kiss-swollen and reddish and connected by a thin thread of saliva. It wasn’t until Kamukura moved to wipe the tears away from Komaeda’s face that he noticed he was crying.

“Don’t,” Kamukura said, quietly, softly, tenderly, with his voice hoarse and low, barely audible even in the dead quiet room. “We will meet again.”

Komaeda smiled through his tears, looking tenderly at his lover. 

“Yes,” he said. “I know we will.”

Kamukura held his stare, then gave him such a quiet smile that Komaeda would have definitely missed if he hadn’t been so close to his face, wrinkles forming in the corner of his eyes, a small trace of a dimple forming in his right cheek, pale freckles apparent in his pale skin. He gently cupped his face after a moment, pulled him closer again, and pressed their lips together once more. Komaeda sighed softly, once again melting into Kamukura’s warm touch and burning hot passion, allowing the man’s love to keep him safe from the forever winter weather of the forever wintry town.

It’s always so cold in Towa City.  
  


* * *

  
Later, that day, two men found themselves lying unconscious on surgical stretchers in the same operating room, parallel to each other, with their hands extended towards one another. They knew each other, they were lovers.

**-x-**

Then they didn’t.  
  


* * *

  
He was sitting on the floor of a small cabin of a ship, judging by the constant and nauseating movement. The cabin was dark and lacked any furnitude, and the only source of light was the small window on his left. Across from him, also on the floor with his back against the wall, sat a boy with impossibly long hair as dark as the darkest of nights and piercing crimson red eyes, cold and so incredibly bored, that seemed to glow in the dim light of the cabin.

He felt himself immediately attracted to the boy. The boy immediately called him boring.  
  


* * *

  
A while later, on a paradise island in the Pacific Ocean, a boy with olive hair lies on the hot sand under a scorching sun, with his eyes closed and one hell of a headache.

“Hey,” says a voice to his immediate right, soothing, breathy, calm. Concerned. “Can you hear me?”

**Author's Note:**

> One thing: They did not do the dirty until Komaeda asked them to, that day before they surrendered themselves. Before that, they had only stayed on the hand/blowjobs and heated make outs basis.
> 
> Me, writing that last part: You can go a little ooc for a bit of fluff... As a treat.
> 
> As you can tell by that last bit, there will be a sequel for this story –but it's gonna be Komahina, after waking up from the simulation. I'll immediately start working on it!
> 
> Thank you very much if you read the story til the end!! I really got carried away with this one skjfksjf. By all means, here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kamukouma), just in case anyone wants it!!


End file.
